


Curses of the Deledier Ship

by numbateme



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Football, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Shot Collection, Romance, World Cup, deledier, england nt, sports rpf - Freeform, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbateme/pseuds/numbateme
Summary: Instead of writing one large story, I thought I'd write small oneshots of different days of Deledier lives.(Also, ao3 is sleeping on Deledier, w h y ? !)





	1. Prologue

There was something about the way Dele rolled his eyes that reminded Eric of the good ol' days of 2016. The world has become a scary place, that was for sure, but it had also become a safer place.

There was something in the way Dele subtly reached for his hand underneath the table, his fingers sliding between his and squeezing tightly. There was so much going on outside: terrorism, climate change, Brexit, even people who ate rabbits for lunch, that made it hard to find a safe place.

There was something about the soft smile stuck on Dele's lips, whether it was because of the one too many glasses of champagne or this end of year Christmas party, he did not care as long as he was smiling. Instead of focusing on the dark world outside, he chose to see the bright lights in his ballroom, the bubbling laughter from the crowd, the warm Christmas sweaters the Spurs were donning, not forgetting the rib cracking jokes that were rolling off Son's tongue at the microphone.

There was something in the way Dele was looking at him, eyes sparkling, laughter stuck in his throat.

There was always something about Dele that knew Eric focused on the wrong going on outside but he constantly showed him, despite everything, there was always good outside, too and he should not worry about it (and perhaps bloody enjoy the corny Christmas jokes the Spurs were laughing at).


	2. Taking this step one at a time, one foot in front of the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dele and Eric find each other thanks to Harry's clever plan at bonding the Spurs boys.

 

It started on a rainy day in London.

Harry Kane had just put his newborn baby in her pink crib, his fiancée off on a girls’ weekend to Vegas and he was, simply put, bored out of his mind. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he propped his feet on the couch, unpausing his movie on Netflix.

Mauricio Pochettino had confided in Harry earlier in the week that the morale of the team was low and that they were not as united as last season. He was deeply worried this was affecting their ability to get their head in the game and sought the Captain’s help.

He asked his fiancée for ideas but that was a dead-end. He asked his friends who had their own ideas but some were risky, outlandish, and expensive (even with their weekly six-figure salary). The days passed by, Pochettino secretly inquiring if he was doing well with Operation Friends (credit goes entirely to Poch) but he would shake his head. He did not even have a skeleton of a Plan.

Truth be told, he did feel Poch’s worries, admitting they were not as close as they were the season before (or even two seasons ago). Too many players had left, too many new ones had come attempting to find their footing, the ones that never left staying out of the newbies’ business.

He has been staring at the TV for a while now, not quite paying attention to the new episode of _Peaky Blinders_ , as a lightbulb appeared on top of his head. Of course, why not cinemas? Cinemas were a great way to bond, he knew… well, hoped. Plus there was minimal talking in the cinema where everyone could comfortably sit in a dark room for less than two hours and thereafter go for lunch (or dinner) together and… talk about whatever they watched. The conversation would flow from there, and with a few cinema trips, they would all bond in no time. It was foolproof.

It had to be.

Or else he would suck horribly as a Captain.

The first course of action was setting up a WhatsApp group. Henderson (Captain of the Reds), when Harry explained his Operation Friends (Harry officially changed it to Operation Cinema), stated that in order to get everyone together was to create a platform where they could talk to each other. He had suggested Facebook but Hendo shook his head, saying that was old school, WhatsApp was easier… and had a personal touch.

Seeing as he was the Spurs Captain, he had everyone’s contacts and added everyone to the WhatsApp group on a starry night in February. He welcomed everyone to the group and… did not know what else to say so he kept quiet. The momentum was slow, he will not lie, and maybe he should have made more of an effort to bring people together so he went into stage two of Operation Cinema.

 **Harry K:** Hey lads, fancy a movie on Sunday?

Juan Foyth was the first to reply with a thumbs up and minutes later Danny Rose replied.

 **Rose:** Sure. What’s playing?

Harry would be a liar if he did not throw a first in the air, his baby girl momentarily staring up at him at the sudden movement from her Papa and going back to playing with her toy. He was about to reply when his Jan Vertonghen sent in his reply.

 **Jan:** Central Intelligence is funny…

 **Toby:** Is that the one with Kevin Hart?

 **Serge:** Kevin Hart is great !

Juan sent a thumbs up. Several others were in agreement and it was settled: they were going to watch _Central Intelligence_. The first day of Operation Cinema was more than successful in Harry’s opinion. About 10 of them showed up which was seven more than he honestly thought would appear and thereafter they went to a club (the idea of sushi (his own idea) shot down immediately (later, when re-telling the story, Hendo cringed at his suggestion) and Serge suggested heading to a club).

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

Nothing was that different from the football team the following week after the first time. He decided to have a second go at it. Two days after their match against Arsenal he opened up their WhatsApp group (Dele having changed the name to Dele and Co.) and asked if anyone was available on Wednesday to go watch _Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates_.

As always, Foyth was the first to reply, this time with two thumbs up.

 **Son:** Is it comedy?

 **Harry:** Yeah. It’s about these two lads who need to find dates to their sister’s wedding.

 **Llorente:** I have already watched it.. It is not that great to be honest..

 **Erik:** Doctor Strange is out already! Lets go watch that instead

 **Jan:** The new XMen is out too…

 **Toby:** We talked about this, we arent X-Men fans in Spurs. We are Marvel.

 **Jan:** Agree to disagree…

 **Eric:** Marvel hands down. I’m in for Doctor Strange.

Juan sent three thumbs up, Son with several laughing emojis and Wanyama with a tongue emoji.

 **Jan:** X MEN X MEN X MEN

 **Christian:** Give it up Jan, Dr Strange is a winner. And once we see DS, we will watch Captain America which is out in 2 months.

 **Jan:** Captain America is boring… He has no cool powers…

 **Eric:** ‘Agree to disagree’ – February 2016

 **Dembele:** Can we go on Thursday instead ? If that is alright with everyone ?

Several Spurs sent their agreements and Thursday they met in central London, all of them clutching their tickets for Doctor Strange. This time, both Eric and Dele were present. They were sat together, sandwiched between both Harry’s on either side of them. Dele was munching on his sweet popcorn, halfway through them during the commercials.

“Are you excited?”

Dele turned to him, his eyebrows raised a little in surprise. He swallowed the popcorn in his mouth then shrugged. “Not a huge Marvel fan, me.”

Eric’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, you’re a DC fan then?”

“Neither. I didn’t really get into comics like everyone did and haven’t bothered to get into it. My brother is a massive fan. Apparently, Ironman is the one to look out for.”

“Your brother’s not wrong,” Eric commented. His eyes drifted to Dele hand, rolling a popcorn between his fingers.

“Who’s your favorite?”

“Doctor Strange.”

 The movie began and Dele sat back in his seat and munched his popcorns to the movie. It was done before anything actually happened and his mouth felt empty. His brother, Harry, constantly went on and on about superheroes, about their different powers, betting one against the other like if Iron and Captain America were in a fight who would win, and he simply rolled his eyes because he could care less. For some odd reason, he took a particular interest in this superhero movie.

“Well?”

Dele raised an eyebrow at Eric. “Well,” he parroted.

“What did you think?”

Dele shrugged. “He’s interesting, that much I’ll give him. But… still, don’t see the big deal about them movies.”

“But… he was fantastic wasn’t he?”

“You want me to say Benedict was amazing, don’t you?”

Eric winked at him and Dele could not help but laugh. “He’s better than Ironman simply cause he doesn’t wear a dumb body suit.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “It’s a body armor, not a body suit.”

“Whatever you call it.”

“Are you coming with us?” asked Eric when they were walking outside the cinema hall.

Dele shook his head, taking out his phone from his back pocket. “I’ve got dinner with the family so…”

The next time the Spurs went out for a movie date it was for _Captain America: Civil War_. Before that, there had been a suggestion for X-Men which Jan advocated for vividly and actively for days on the group but it got heated between the Belgians in the group that no one else intervened, including the Captain.

Going solo, Jan took selfies of his trip before, during, and after watching _X-Men: Apocalypse_ even going ahead and including strangers in his videos swearing that the film was just as good as (gulp) Doctor Strange. Many on the group figured the strangers were more excited to have met Jan and would agree to anything the asked, including swearing by X-Men.

“Surprised you’re here,” Eric voiced his thoughts.

“Harry basically threw me out the house when he saw the messages on the group saying we’re watching Captain _this_ ,” he said, his thumb pointing to a large poster of Chris Evans.

“Maybe this is the universe sending you a message.”

“Yes, that I should always lock my phone and ignore the Spurs group.”

Eric laughed heartedly. “Or you should become a Marvel fan.”

“Over my dead body.” Dele sensed he had perhaps said that harsher than he intended it to sound for Eric frowned and asked if he truly did not like superhero movies. “It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just.” He shrugged. “Would not be my first choice if went to the cinema. I like what Harry’s is doing, don’t get me wrong,” Dele added hastily, “We’re bonding and shit, getting closer as a team but—”

Eric never heard the end of his sentence, Paulo’s announcing they should head to their cinema screen right now.

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

One rainy day after training, Poch pulled Harry aside and asked on the progress of Operation Friends. He detailed its success, however, it was dwindling as more people attended the cinema part, less on the second part of his after cinema plans. Poch patted him on the back stating that his boys were bonding better than before, old and new players speaking to each other like as Eric and Dele growing closer, Moussa and Winksy. You could see it off the pitch, most importantly on the pitch during big, big games.

Oh, and lest he forgot, it was now called Operation Cinema.

 **Erik:** Is anyone up for a celebratory film on winning the FA cup ?

Foyth sending two thumbs up.

 **Wanyama:** What do you have in mind

 **Winksy:** can we watch something else than what we normally watch?

 **Jan:** Agreed… We have been watching too many Marvel films lately… let us watch something different like Star Trek..

 **Toby:** Why do you always suggest terrible movies ?

 **Jan:** Why do you not have good taste?...

Harry rolled his eyes. Not again with these two, always disagreeing when it came to a battle which was better: X Men vs Marvel. Or Marvel vs. whatever-Jan-deemed-worthy.

 **Eric:** What non-superhero movies are available, HK?

By default, Harry himself was nominated with the task of finding what new movies were out whether now or soon and he would relay them and end up picking which ones (including which cinema to go to). Currently, there were many available and he narrowed them to six, two of them cartoon films.

 **Winksy:** i say either secret life of pets or finding dory.

 **Dele:** R u forgetting Moana?

 **Danny:** Is Finding Dory the same as Finding Nemo?

 **Walker-Peters:** Finding Dory is only about Dory herself, the blue fish who was in Finding Nemo.

 **Son:** Do you know it is played by Ellen DeGeneres?

 **Paulo:** Who is Ellen 

Son sent a Wikipedia photo of Ellen onto the group.

 **Ben:** I’m watching Finding Dory with my little sister tomorrow.

 **Walker-Peters:** Let’s watch Secret Life of Pets instead. It’s available at 11:16 PM on Monday.

 Foyth sent three thumbs up and Christian sending a smiling emoticon.

 **Eric:** Moana is interesting too. How many movies do you know where the main character is not white?

 **Son:** Finding Dory

 **Eric:** That’s a fish, Sonny

Plenty of laughing emoticons were sent through but the smiling emoji from Dele was what stuck in Eric’s mind (stopping himself from favoriting there and then)(who was he kidding, he favorited the shit out of the emoticon).

 **Son:** It is not a white person

 **Eric:** Plus Moana, a brave girl, goes on a quest to fight for her island and it speaks true to today’s women empowerment movements.

Dele sent several clapping emoticons (favoriting them almost instantly) and Foyth sent one thumbs up.

 **Walker-Peters:** And Secret Life of Pets?

 **Jan:** OK Eric we will watch Moana… No need to Google what the movie is about… okay…

 **Eric:** The cinema is closer than the one showing Secret life of Pets.

 **Christian:** You win Eric, no need to defend Moana

 **Walker-Peters:** LADS!!! SECRET. LIFE. OF. PETS.

 **Rose:** Let it go, mate. Don’t think Eric’s giving Moana up for Pets.

 **Walker-Peters:** FFS!!! SECRET. LIFE. OF. PETS. IS. EPIC !

 

“You didn’t have to,” Dele said. He was seated at the end of the last row of the cinema, with Eric beside him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said waving a dismissal hand at Dele.

Dele on the pitch was a go-getter no doubt about it, making his presence known with his movement, loud laughter, and banter but off the pitch, way off the pitch, he was quiet. He rarely asked for anything from his teammates, seemingly not wanting to be a burden to them or to step on anyone’s toes. Maybe it was because he was new to Spurs or… or who knows, Eric did not really know him but he felt like giving him something even if it was as small as _Moana_.

“I’m serious.”

Eric paused, his eyes stopping on the Spurs player sat next to him. His bucket of popcorn held against his chest looking back at him earnestly.

“We’ve been watching superhero movies so many times, and you don’t really like them so it was only fair we watched something else.”

“Thank you.”

It was quiet, soft, very opposite to Dele on-the-pitch and something tugged at his heart. As the movie began, a warm hand covered his momentarily squeezing, before it left, seconds later followed by a chewing sound. Eric watched the entire movie with a small smile on his face.

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

Despite the small squabble on the group, this was the highest turnout for the movie _and_ the after-movie activity which was go-karting. Harry was exceptionally proud, even Hendo was surprised at how well Operation Cinema was going. However, with the end of the season fast approaching, fewer people came for the cinema trips, even fewer during the season break.

In the few times that they did attend together, Eric and Dele’s bond grew. They would naturally sit close together in the cinema, at times arriving earlier than everyone else like an unspoken agreement to arrive 30, 40 minutes before the agreed time. It was not as if they were doing anything special, they simply walked around the mall, talking about this and that, grabbing a couple of Skittles to sneak into the cinema.

They started meeting up on their own time, after training, before a match, two days after match day, doing various things such as playing FIFA, looking for new carpets because the one in Dele’s living room was constantly not to his liking, bowling in which Eric constantly lost but would be the winner when it came to laser tag.

Try as much as he might, Eric failed to bring Dele to the Marvel universe, Dele promptly falling asleep on Eric’s shoulder every single time. It turned out that Dele was, in fact, not a huge movie person, preferring series over movies. Actually, he preferred video games over anything, preferably Fortnite.

Eric was fighting a losing battle, really.

It was a new season, a fresh start to last season’s coming fourth place in the League, and Harry was on a mission to continue Operation Cinema. Operation Cinema 2.0, actually.

 **Lucas:** I do not think we’ve seen a horror yet

 **Hugo:** You have seen the new trailer for Hush

 **Harry:** It has terrible reviews on IMDb.

 **Hugo:** There is The Boy

 **Eric:** Do we have to watch a horror?

 **Toby:** I think someone is terrified

 **Jan:** Haha… let’s definitely watch a horror

Foyth sent three thumbs up.

 **Winksy:** 31 looked awesome

 **Lucas:** What is 31 about

 **Serge:** I am in whatever we are watching!

 **Dembele:** Someone is finally showing up. The last you came was when we watched Deadpool.

 **Moussa:** You’re one to talk! You last came when we watched Doctor Strange.

 **Harry:** 31 is about a bunch of clowns hold workers hostage and they must play a game in order to escape.

 **Serge:** Sounds great!

 **Lucas:** Does not sound scary at all

 **Eric:** Sounds well scary, mate.

Dele sent several clapping emoticons, which was immediately followed by laughing emoticons from Lucas, Jan and Toby. Dele sent the middle-finger-up to all of them.

 **Sanchez:** HK, is the Conjuring 2 out yet?

 **Harry:** It’s coming out next week Monday. 

 **Eric:** The first one was horrible!! It was well scary.

 **Danny:** It takes place in North London. WHERE DELE LIVES !!!

 **Jan:** We ARE definitely watching this…

Dele sent several middle-finger up and smoke-blowing-out-of-nose emoticons.

 **Serge:** Maybe it is D’s neighbor!

 

It was settled. Come D-Day Dele was shitting his pants, Eric too, but not as bad as his best friend. It was so bad that he did not even drive himself to the cinema, opting out for a taxi. On his way in the taxi, he was watching every cartoon possible on his phone from, _Alvin and the Chipmunks_ to _Ricky and Morty_ , even bloody _Powerpuff Girls_ (which he will never admit to anyone, ever). Anything to calm his nerves down, really.

Eric had texted him earlier in the day wondering if he was a-okay with watching _The Conjuring 2_ and if he was not, he could opt out, they could do something else just the two of them. It was tempting, he was not going to lie, but his teammates would never live it down, forever bantering with him for being a wuss. Besides, if Eric was going, who was also scared of horror movies, they could scream like little boys in the cinema together.

(Hopefully not)

“Ready for the Conjuring, Delboy?” asked Winksy, his words mellowed with chuckles.

“Since when do you like horrors?”

“Mate, I’ve got a mom who goes crazy during Halloween, I’ve seen everything there possibly is to horror.”

That did not make him feel safer. Maybe he should have watched a horror instead of cartoons on the taxi ride here to familiarise his brain with what was to come in Conjuring. A familiar pair of strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, the familiar scent of aftershave wafting through his nostrils.

“Don’t listen to Winksy, he’s just scaring you.”

“I’m right though,” Winksy said, his eyes twinkling. “Besides, you’re just as scared of horrors as Dele. Like the blind leading the blind,” he added, walking off to where Moussa was taking selfies with Dembele.

Dele pressed his back to Eric’s chest who automatically squeezed his hold on the younger lad.

“I read the review and it’s not as scary as Lucas made it sound on the group.”

“I’m going to murder him after the movie.”

“Nothing too scary happens, I read,” Eric added. His thumb was rubbing on Dele’s left arm, where the tattoo of his adoptive mother was inked.

“I’m going to skin his Brazilian skin off and feed it to the demon piece of shit in Conjuring,” Dele spat, his eyes trained on Lucas laughing at something with Dembele and Serge. 

“Del, are you listening?”

Dele turned on the spot, Eric’s arms still around his shoulders and gauged his gaze. “It’s set in North London, where I live, Diet. What if Danny is right? What if it’s my neighbor’s house that is haunted?”

“I don’t think it’s a true story.”

“What if.” Dele squeaked and groaned, letting his forehead fall on Eric’s shoulder. His arms snaked around Eric’s waist and gripped his baggy red sweatshirt. Dele’s head turned every so lightly on his shoulder, his warm breath tickling his neck as he spoke: “I’m proper scared of horrors, Diet.”

Briefly, Eric wondered why he came to today’s cinema trip with his teammates before dismissing the thought. “I’ll tell you what, after the movie, we’ll go to that yogurt place you love so much, go back to my place, order Thai and watch re-runs of _The Chase_ and you can stay as long as you want.”

Dele lifted his head to look at him. He gulped, some part of Dele feeling safe already. “Promise?” Eric could only nod. He eyes slowly trailed down his nose, his barely-there mustache and then his pink lips. His hold on Dele’s shoulders tightened and he swore that his sweatshirt was pulled ever so lightly. He watched, his breath hitching, as Dele’s tongue wet his lips, the movement slow, his own mouth parting at the action. His heart skipped a beat when Dele’s head turned to the right, almost cautious, almost like a spell did his turn the other way—

“Conjuring 2 proceed to Cinema Screen number 13.”

Their two heads whipped right and left then up towards the voice of the speaker. They peeled from each other, Dele’s eyes downcast and Eric feeling his cheeks burning. They made their way to the hall, their hands brushing silently, Jan and Toby bickering before them, Serge and Moussa talking in French about – if Eric listened closely – the first Conjuring. On the WhatsApp group, he had said he watched the first Conjuring but if he was being honest, he watched the _trailer,_ not the movie, and that was enough to keep him off the Conjuring saga for good.

Or so he thought.

It was natural for them to be sat together, the other teammates leaving the last two seats at either corner of the cinema for Dele _and_ Eric. When they had gone to watch some superhero movie Dele cannot recall, Eric had excused himself to go to the bathroom and the seat near Dele was empty. He had come back during the pre-movie commercials to find Hugo in his seat. Hugo was in his seat because Toby was in his seat who did not want to sit next to Janssen claiming he had farted on his seat.

“Sit somewhere else!” Dele had insisted. He pointed behind Eric. “Look, there. An empty seat!”

“This is a better view!” Hugo had claimed. Apparently, no one had told him about the unspoken rule between Spurs that Dele _and_ Eric always sat together.

Not want to cause a scene, Eric had said he would sit in the empty seat. Dele huffed and puffed on the inside, next to him Hugo getting comfortable and Harry looking uneasily between the three of them. Dele had sent a dirty glare to Hugo before he walked to Eric’s seat, ordering Trippier to move one chair up and plopped happily next to Eric.

 _The Conjuring 2_ started off well, nothing too scary, nothing jumping off the screen unannounced, no eerie music playing in the background. The location of the movie was not in Dele’s neighborhood so… so far, so good, really.

With no popcorn to distract himself, he nervously twirled the gold ring on his index finger. He told himself it was just a movie. It was a dumb movie. There were no houses in North London that were haunted by demonic spirits. It was all a lie. It was just for cinematic effects. It was a fabrication—

A hand clamped on him, stopping the continuous twirling of his ring. He turned to find Eric looking at him worriedly. He looked down at their hands watching the older man open up his hand and filling his fingers in the spaces between his own and tightening their hold. As the main characters navigated through their turmoil, Dele’s grip would tighten on Eric to the extent his was pale, able to be seen in the dark. He would throw his hand, along with Eric’s to his tightly shut eyes, when the so-called demon appeared, ignoring the snickers from his teammates.

Someone somewhere must have had mercy on him because it was not him, it was _definitely_ not him that screamed towards the end of the film. He lowered the pair of hands from his terrified eyes to turn left, far left to find Sanchez screaming. Loudly. The entire cinema hall turned their heads towards the scream, the Spurs boys howling in laughter already and Dele’s body calming down from blooding pumping through his trembling body. He did not scream.

The next day at the training grounds nobody remembered how scared Dele and Eric were nor how Son was too scared to even show up to the cinema but Sanchez screaming his lungs out. And they never let him forget it.

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

The next cinema hangout was going to be different, Harry told Hendo just as much.

“How’d you know?” he had asked him when they were out for lunch on Sunday.

“I don’t know, but I just do.”

With his wife falling asleep soundly on his chest, some dumb movie playing on Netflix, there was a ding on his phone. He picked it up, finding a notification from a new WhatsApp group: Fix Deledier.

Already there was a conversation happening and from what he gathered from reading the 80-plus messages, the team had noticed that Dele _and_ Eric were getting close, closer than what they called a bromance and Christian had spotted them quite close together on the night they went to watch _The Conjuring 2_. They had suggested that for their next movie they agree it to be a romantic one and they would go on their actual WhatsApp group and act as if it was a spur of the moment idea.

 **Winksy:** harry’s finally online!

 **Harry:** It’s almost midnight, you’re meant to be in bed, Winsky.

 **Winksy:** mate, my sister is having her sweet sixteen, i’m not going to bed anytime soon.

 **Jan:** Can you spot any romantic movies we can go watch?…

 **Toby:** One with a lot of kissing.

 **Son:** Something with comedy. Dele likes comedy.

 **Trippier:** A nice rom-com if possible.

Foyth sent a number of thumbs up.

 **Harry:** La La Land is coming out in two weeks.

 **Lucas:** What is it about?

 **Wanyama:** Is romantic enough

 **Harry:** It’s about a pianist and actress falling in love while trying to achieve their dreams.

 **Llorente:** Sounds lame.

 **Walker-Peters:** IMDb says it’s about an actress (Mia) and a jazz musician (Sebastian) trying to make ends meet while trying to pursue their dreams in LA. As they become successful, their love is threatened to fall apart and they must decide whether to be in the spotlight or continue their once in a lifetime love affair.

Several heart emoticons appear below his description of the movie.

 **Jan:** Now this sounds more romantic than what Harry typed!...

 **Christian:** Do we know how it ends ?

 **Harry:** No, we don’t. It leaves us in suspense.

 **Trippier:** This is just like Deledier’s story. Theyre two characters in their own football “musical” pursuing their own dreams & end up falling for each other (they cant seem to admit this so we are here to help) & maybe they shall completely fall in love when they go see the film together.

 **Toby:** Let us hope Mia and Sebastian end up together in the end or else our plan will have gone badly.

 **Christian:** Nicely put Tripps!

 **Harry:** I don’t think we should do an activity after the movie like we always do. Let’s all say we have places to go after watching La La Land and we leave them both of them to figure out on their own what to do.

The Spurs teammates were in agreement, Foyth sending a string of thumbs up emoticons. If Harry was being honest, this was the fastest they had ever agreed on a movie. Not even one bicker between Jan and Toby. They went over their plan, each teammate with a specific role to play, Harry playing the important role of if either of them grew suspicious he was to intervene (seeing as he was Captain and all, plus he was the least likely to be questioned further). A week passed (they ended up watching _Bad Moms_ , a terrible choice blamed entirely on Trippier) and it was game time to execute their plan.

 **Erik:** We’ve never watched a romantic film

 **Eric:** For a good reason because the last one we watched Sonny ended up crying along with Moussa.

 **Moussa:** I was having allergies.

 **Eric:** That cause you to cry from your eyes and drip mucus from your nose?

Dele sent a string of laughing emoticons.

 **Rose:** La La Land is coming out this Thursday and Emma Stone is in it.

 **Paulo:** I love Emma Stone.

 **Eric:** Since when do you know who Emma Stone is?

Harry panicked. That was not his cue, it was Lucas’ line to say _he_ loves Emma Stone.

 **Serge:** Who doesnt know Emma!

He breathed a sigh of relief. Serge to the rescue. Next up was Dembele who had picked their favorite cinema which was, unanimously agreed among the Spurs, had the right touch of romance (also, it was the closest to the bowling alley Dele and Eric had gone to that one time where Dele documented the entire date on Snapchat).

 **Dembele:** Let’s go to Cinema Hair because they have the best popcorn.

Foyth sent three thumbs up.

 **Winksy:** and the most comfortable seats

Foyth send five thumbs up emoticons.

 **Trippier:** And offers discounts when we are many

 **Eric:** Lucas has agreed to watch La La Land?

 **Wanyama:** Yeah, of course, why

 **Eric:** Not a romantic guy, him.

A beat passed. And another. And another minute passed too, no one on the group commenting because it was Lucas’ turn to talk or else their plan might not go according _to_ plan. On the other WhatsApp group, Trippier was rapidly sending a string of messages out to them that Walker-Peters was calling Lucas and Winksy was texting him to reply quickly before Eric grew suspicious.

Finally, he was online.

 **Lucas:** It is our anniversary soon so I want to get ideas for our anniversary date Plus, it is Emma Stone

 **Son:** After we can go bowling. We havent been in a long time.

 **Dele:** & ill beat ur ass again Sonny boy

 **Son:** You wish Delboy

 **Eric:** This is the first time we’ve agreed on a movie without Jan and Toby arguing with each other. Or Winksy and Son arguing about which cartoon comedy is funnier. Or Serge and Dembele saying it’s not French enough.

 **Eric:** Is everyone on crack or something?

 **Harry:** Is it strange that we agree on one movie?

 **Eric:** Yes.

 **Harry:** We’ve been doing this for over a year now, I think there are some genres that we agree on quickly because no one has a particular preference and that is romance.

Foyth sent six thumbs up emoticons.  

Eric did not comment further and it all seemed to have worked out. During the following TWO weeks, the two best friends were unaware of their teammates' plan but Eric was slowly growing suspicious. He could not quite put his finger on it but he could swear his teammates were watching him closely, a little longer than usual, moreso when he was with Dele. On Thursday he told Dele his suspicions.

Dele simply shrugged picking up his large bucket of sweet popcorn. “I’ve not noticed anything.”

“Did you not see Winksy looking at us for a while when you were helping me play Uno against Wanyama?”

Dele’s eyes searched the cinema for said person and found him laughing along with Walker-Peters and Foyth. He turned to look at the older man before popping several white fluffy clouds into his mouth.

“I think you’re being paranoid, Diet. Maybe the hauntings of Conjuring are coming back.”

Eric rolled his eyes, his feet leading towards Cinema Screen 5. “We didn’t even watch that movie in this cinema.”

“The only odd thing I found was that we did agree quickly to watch a movie for the first time ever but like Harry said, romantic movies are the one genre neither of us – apart from Moussa – care too much about what we watch.”

Hugo steered clear of sitting near the two boys, opting to sit with Toby and Jan on the other side of the cinema. They all strategically sat in places where they could see if their plan was working swimmingly. Or not. Those who were stealth included Harry himself, Walker-Peters, Wanyama and, surprisingly, Vincent and they sat where they could easily, yet secretly, turn to look at Dele _and_ Eric and notify the others of Plan Deledier (courtesy of Trippier’s naming of the plan).

Like clockwork, Dele’s popcorn was done before the plot of _La La Land_ had even begun. He leaned sideways, whispering low in Eric’ ear, “Surprise surprise, my popcorn’s done.”

Eric snorted underneath his breath. “Typical, Delboy.” They held each other’s gaze before giggling underneath their breath.

They had held hands before so it was not unusual that Eric took Dele’s hand and placed it on top of his thigh. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a small smile dancing on Dele’s lips, the strings of his heart pulling tightly. He looked back at the massive screen, closely missing Wanyama looking keenly at the two of them.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone play jazz in real life,” commented Dele, his voice surprisingly close to Eric’s ear. When did he get so close? And why was his heart beating louder than usual?

“Ever?”

Dele thumbed his knuckles by way of reply and Eric might as well have given up on following the movie. Instead, he took a large gulp of breath in through his nose, exhaling through his open mouth. That did not work, his heart was still beating loudly. He breathed in again, somewhere in the back of his mind Dele’s thumbing of his knuckles a rhythm playing smoothly like Sebastian in _La La Land_.

The scene in the movie changed to a beautiful pink sunset where the two characters were sat together before singing _A Lovely Night_.

Eric’s eyes found Dele’s hand, trailing up his inked arm and meet each other’s gaze, then quickly looked away. Dele missed Vincent looking intensely at the both of them. Eric’s eyes found the ceiling, blocking out the singing and the romantic scene before his eyes. Damn, why was his heart beating so damn loud? He swore Dele can hear him, swore the entire cinema could hear it thumping at his ribcage.

Dele gently tugged on his hand, alerting him to turn. He did, slowly, and this time neither of them looked away (and neither did Harry, one row in front of them). He swallowed before smiling. Dele smiled back promptly, _A Lovely Night_ going into its chorus. His hand came up behind Dele’s ear, his thumb pressing down on his earlobe, down to his long neck, feeling the thick pulse beneath his thumb. He inched closer to Dele, the younger boy’s eyes darting between his own, very nervous, very silent.

Eric swore (again) he was feeling an out of body experience because it was as if he was enchanted by the dumb romantic movie, by the sunset scene with the dumb melody or the young player in front of him he has grown so, so close to, so attached like a glue stick. He came at him like an avalanche, honest. One minute Dele was never in his life, there was no a Dele and now, he cannot for the life of him remember a time _before_ Dele.

Cannot remember soft lips pressing on his.

He came back to, a squeak of surprise on the back of his throat that sounded as loud as a bomb in his mind. His fingers pressed to the length of his neck, pressing their lips closer and were gone before he could really taste him. Dele was pushing back against his hand on his neck but the tip of his tongue brushing on Dele’s upper lip and, this time, kissed him proper. Their lips move softly on each other, his bottom lip between Dele’s, him breathing sharply through his nose and Dele hungrily kissed his lips.  

His fingers brushed deeper into Dele’s soft and curly afro as his tongue barely brushed on his own. He tugged down on Dele’s hair, breaking their lips just for a mo, and chased Dele’s tongue down his throat. They snogged for years or for seconds, neither could tell the difference but Eric swore time had stopped his lips melting with Dele’s soft ones.

Their teammates were nudging each other, repeatedly pointing at Del and Diet sucking each other’s faces off and they know for sure that their plan had worked perfectly. Everything was perfect.

Eric broke their kiss, breathless. “Fuck!” Dele pecked his lips once more before looking up and smiling shyly at Diet. What was it about Delboy that was addictive? He knew they just kissed but hot damn, he was already in love with those lips. As the song came to end, he kissed them again, his fingers deeper in Dele’s hair. Dele pushed harder on his bruised, red lips, feeling his cheeks burning under Dele’s thumbing along his cheekbones as Dele sucked on his lips hard, then caressing them later with a softer kiss.

“Diet,” Dele mumbled on his lips. Eric shut his eyes tighter, missing his lips. He brushed his swollen lips on Dele, the boy sucking on his own bottom lip without hesitation.

“Come back to mine after?” Eric asked, his voice hoarse. Dele nodded against his forehead, unable to utter even a simple ‘Yes’.  “I’ll come up with an excuse not to go bowling.”

Dele pecked his lips three, four times by way of reply.

They returned to watching the movie, the other teammates quickly turning their heads back to the screen just in time. Neither of them paid any attention to the movie, their minds already back in Eric’s house, the TV playing something random in the background, their bodies in a puddle on Eric’s green couch kissing until the sun rose the following morning. Or until their lips were numb, red and could not taste each other anymore.

“Bowling anyone?” Paulo asked once they left their cinema screen and were all outside.

“I don’t think Diet and I will be joining you lads,” Dele said to them.

“Why?” Serge asked, feigning surprise.

Dele’s mouth opened wordlessly and no words came out. Eric came to the rescue by saying, “I left the sitter with the dogs so I should go early to… you know.” He made a poor motion with his hands that the Spurs were secretly snickering at because it was obvious Eric was nervous and coming up with an excuse to ditch them was not quite working out.

“The both of you?” inquired Jan with a knowing smile. Too bad Dele _and_ Eric missed it, too busy staring at each other coming up with excuses to ditch their teammates for bowling.

“Need to make sure Diet goes home in one piece, innit?” chuckled Dele nervously.

“Okay,” intervened Harry before anyone asked another question seeing as Eric was growing redder by the minute and Dele dying of embarrassment on the spot.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Winksy shouted.

Eric turned on the spot. “What?”

“Nothing,” smiled Moussa, hitting Winksy on the arm. “Have fun you two.”

It was two weeks later when Hendo called Harry for a round of golf. They were on the courts, playing a friendly game between the two of them.

“How did Operation Cinema 2.0 turn out?” asked Hendo. “Rumors going around that Dele and Eric are together together.”

Dele _and_ Eric had long dropped the big ‘B’ in their bromance but had not said anything of being together. Sure, they would go on date nights, kiss when they thought nobody was looking. There would be longing stares between them, a sneaky touch here and there, a lingering touch on the shoulder or thigh very often, but neither said they were together in the way Hendo was implying.

“I honestly don’t know. This wasn’t my initial plan. Operation Cinema was meant to bring us Spurs closer together.”

“It sure did.” Hendo smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Poch is delighted.”

“Has he noticed?”

“He’s commented,” he answered knowing he was asking about the two boys. “Even he thinks they’re dating.”

“Because they bloody are. I’m not even in Spurs yet I know they are, we all know they are.”

Watching Hendo take a swing, he thought about it, deeply thought about it, people had treated them as if they were together long before they _were_ together. After all, there was no Dele without Eric and no Eric without Dele, it was always _DeleandEric_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it was, my first attempt at writing a deledier fic. and if you're reading this, thank you for reading till the end [;  
> the whole cinema thing: just imagine fans don't bother a GROUP of Spurs randomly appearing at cinemas ahaha LOL
> 
> i would LOVE to hear your feedback, the good, the bad and the ugly and hopefully i can write more?? idk ?? 
> 
> tchao x


	3. Take a look around the room, you’re just my type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is possibly a bad religion for Eric when it comes to Dele.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [:

 

His name was Eric Dier and Dele was his secret. A gay secret, to be specific.

Dele did not know he was his secret hence the word secret and he had been his tiny little secret for over two years now. See, he was in love with his best friend, very much so, and that was part of the secret, too. Short of sounding cheesy he did not know he was in love until he was in bloody love with his best friend. He remembered the exact moment in fact. Actually, he remembered the moment it clicked that he was in love because despite his best efforts, he fell in love with him over and over and over and he never stopped falling.

Falling in love with your best friend had a lot of problems such as falling in love with your best friend being high on the list, not being able to share that about your new crush, and absolutely never admitting you love them, so there forever remained this block between the both of you. The other problem was admitting you are gay.

He went through the pitfalls of discovering this new part of him, this part of him that rattled his very core because not everyone goes through a gay crisis identity, more so alone, but he had to. He was in the problem of his sexual identity crisis, pouring his fears down the toilet bowl when Sonny saw him in the bathroom and he could not hold it in any longer and spilled his guts right there on the floor. Gay. Gay and in love with Dele Alli.

Sonny took it surprisingly well, he told Eric he was always a call away and if he wanted anything to not hesitate. They even grew closer, something that Dele had mentioned to him once during training. He just wished Dele was gay, too, then he would not be hurting.

One small problem: Dele had a girlfriend. When Dele casually brought up that he was not available for lad’s night this Friday because he was taking Ruby Mae for their second date, he physically felt his heart freeze and crumble to dust. The room had suddenly felt small, not enough air was getting into his lungs and one name was ringing in his ear like a siren: Ruby. Sonny held onto his shoulder and a small whisper of, “Breath,” in his ear brought him back to the room, his lungs finding their sole purpose of circulating air.

That night he had opened his laptop, popped open a bottle of red and stalked this girl Ruby who stole the apple of his eye (he was two glasses in, give him a break). She had quite the photos on Instagram, her dressed in clothes from different fashion brands such as ASOS and he guessed she was some sort of model. She was about the same age as Dele, British, she loved horses, and most of all, she loved the same music as Dele. You know the type, Hip-Hop, and Rap from artists with funny names like Post Malone, Drake, and Lil… somebody. Dele constantly called him a tight ass when their changing room was chanting along to such songs and he would keep his mouth tight and pretend to be cleaning his boots.

“She’s not even pretty,” he moaned on the phone to Sonny at 4 AM, a couple of hours before their training. “She’s some low lying Instagram model with no fashion sense.”

“What time is this you are calling me?”

“Like where the bloody hell did Del even find this woman?” he continued ranting, scrolling down her Instagram page. “She’s got fake lips, fake tits, fake hair….”

He went on with the bashing, Son – bless him – listened on the other end, complained about her hair, cried angrily that she was not good enough for him, listed his best qualities vis-a-vis Ruby’s which included cooking, cuddles, and cute selfies.

He was so much more than her.

He aimed the empty bottle of red towards the black trash can by the corner of his wine cellar, aimed and scored, landing directly inside. He popped open another and gulped down more red.

“I made the mistake of thinking I could be with him,” he confessed. He stopped on a photo of her, sitting on her bed cuddled up with her black, furry dog. “It’s never going to happen.” He rubbed his hand over his face, the alcohol really getting to him now. “I’m sorry Sonny, I didn’t mean to call you at midnight and cry about Del.”

“It is almost six in the morning, by the way,” Sonny reminded him chuckling softly. Bless Sonny a thousand times, really. “And do not worry about me, it is you I worry about.”

“I’ll be good.” He did not sound confident, Sonny did not believe him but for his own sanity, he had to. He had to stop falling in love with his best friend who would never love him back in that way.

He never made it to training that morning having slept through his alarm and woken up mid-afternoon with a killer hangover.

That is not to say that he was ay-okay with being in love with his best friend. He had run away from the realization, ran away from the word gay itself – a word he had never used consciously that was suddenly at the forefront of his life. It was everywhere and it flashed in front of his face when Dele would jump on his back during a goal celebration, when Dele would rub his hand on top of his buzzcut, when Dele’s laughter would echo melodiously in his ears, even when he simply sat next to him, he felt it deep in his bones.

All this and to think he had not once kissed the younger boy.

Dele stumbled into his living room where Eric had been the entire time. He circled around the silver couch, bent his knee and laid himself on the center of Eric’s chest, pulling his feet up.

“You’re not sleeping on me, are you?”

Dele hummed in response. This happened so often it was almost comical right now. He would play Fortnite with Harry Kane and Harry Maguire for long hours on end with Eric doing whatever in Dele’s house, come out of his basement looking for where Eric was and cuddle him, more often than not ended up sleeping on his body, drool pooling on his chest.

“If you’re sleepy we can go to bed,” he suggested. He placed his hand on the bend of Dele’s neck, his thumb slowly rubbing along his smooth skin. He ran his fingers up and slowly massaged his head.

“You didn’t bake cupcakes this time,” Dele commented, ignoring his suggestion.

“Peaky Blinders was on.”

“The TV is off.”

“Before.”

“Today is Tuesday. The Bodyguard comes on Wednesdays.”

His fingers froze in Dele’s hair. He was surprised that Dele knew when his show came on because he would often tell him and each time Dele get the day wrong. “Since when do you know when it’s on?”

“Because you never shut up about the show and Molly is into it nowadays,” Dele answered. “You two should honestly have a marathon of some sort. Lame.”

“Peaky Blinders is mint,” he defended his show. Dele did not reply instead adjusting himself on top of Eric’s body by moving up, pressing his forehead to his neck and his arm lazily circling around Eric’s waist. Oh no, he wondered if Dele could feel his erratic pulse against his forehead and then figure out he was gay and banish him from his house for life?

Breathe, Sonny’s words echoed to him. He was being silly. Dele was not telepathic and would never know he was in love with him because that would end horribly for both of them.

“Did you know Neil Patrick Harris is gay?” he asked, conversationally. He was a character from How I Met Your Mother, a show they both stumbled upon when Eric’s sister left it halfway playing on his TV and they stopped whatever they were doing and binged watched the first season.

Dele hummed. “How didn’t you know that?”

“The way he plays Barney you wouldn’t think he is gay,” he said. His heart was beating a million miles a minute, his mouth drier than the Sahara desert and the fingers massaging Dele’s hair had long stopped moving. “Do you like him?”

And his heart stopped.

“Yeah, he’s not too bad.”

And his heart picked up its beat. For some odd reason, his comment meant the world to him, of Dele loving Neil Patrick Harris despite his sexual orientation. Perhaps Eric had hope. But then again, Dele did say he liked his character not him as a person… right?

It was another day when they were eating lunch in the Spurs cafeteria. He had finished his meal and was waiting for Dele to finish his yogurt before they changed their kits and called it a day.

“How’s Ruby?” he blurted, an attempt to make conversation and to stop staring at how his lips every time he took a spoonful of yogurt.

Dele cocked a sharp eyebrow at him. “Why the sudden interest?”

“What do you mean? I’m interested in Ruby. Not in that way,” he backtracked when Dele’s eyes widened. “Interested because she—you’re dating her and I—you’re dating.” He stopped talking, catching his breath. “Because you two are dating.”

“I didn’t think you liked her to be honest.”

Eric nervously laughed. “What made you think that?”

“You shut off whenever I bring her up. When I asked for gift ideas for her birthday you literally walked out the room, and recently when we went on a triple date with Harry, you iced her out.”

Eric wondered if he had always been this obvious.

“I’m sorry if I came off that way, I really am, Dele,” he held his gaze to show he meant it and thereafter melted because Dele was now grinning widely at him.

“It’s cool. And she’s good,” he added. “We’re planning on going spending Christmas in MK.”

Eric swallowed thickly. Ruby was now meeting his family? She was going to get the honor of being ooh’d and aah’d at by Dele’s family and it was not fair. The world was not fair and all he could do was smile at Dele instead of screaming, ‘I’m in love with you!’

“Oh yeah?” He almost choked on his words.

Dele nodded. He was done with his lunch and was packing everything onto his tray. He moved to get up but Eric grabbed his hand.

“Can I ask you something?” His heart leaped in his throat. “And please don’t make fun of me for it, I’m being serious.”

Dele sat back down at the table, letting go of his tray and giving him his undivided attention. “Alright, Diet.”

“Do you know any rappers that are gay?”

Dele paused, unsettled by the complete randomness of the question. “Uhhhh,” he stuttered. He did not particularly care too much about rapper’s sexuality, liking them simply for their music. “I don’t know that I do.”

“What about the ones you like? The one with the tattoo?”

Dele laughed. “Most of them have tattoos, mate!”

“But there is that one that you like who dyed his hair white and his album was called Blonde or something.”

“Frank Ocean?” Dele asked and Eric nodded. “I do like a bit of Frank but I wouldn’t say he is my favorite rapper. More of a guilty pleasure, to be fair.”

“He’s gay, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you surprised when he came out?”

“Yeah, actually. I didn’t see it coming but I’m well happy for him. It’s quite hard coming out in such contexts especially being a black rapper.”

Eric nodded, good-naturedly. “I think he did something exceptional, you know, being proud enough to come out to the world.”

Dele cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows furrowed in the middle. “Why the sudden interest in Frank?”

“Maybe I secretly love him.”

Dele held his gaze a second too long with Eric and only when did he turn around to stand up did Eric let go of the breath he did not know he was holding.

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

It was Ruby’s birthday party and Dele was hosting it in his massive house.

By the time he arrived, carpooling with Sonny, Moussa, and Erik, the party was in full swing. There was Jay-Z rapping _bow down, brother pay homage, don't spill hate all on my garments_  from the loudspeakers, bodies swaying and grinding against each other, alcohol easily flowing around the rooms and lots of party games played in great numbers.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, Moussa and Erik had disappeared leaving just him and Sonny and the pair made their way to the makeshift bar. He ordered a gin and tonic as Sonny ordered a beer sweaty bodies swimming around them.

“It is a big party,” said Sonny, raising his voice above the booming music.

Eric shrugged. “It’s not bad.” It was not his scene, this. Songs he did not know the words to, songs that boomed loudly, songs with rappers mumbling their words or rapping too quickly, songs that—He paused. This was Dele’s genre and if he remembered correctly, both Ruby and Dele loved Jay-Z (and his lot) and would often sing along to the lyrics to a T.

If it were Eric he would need to spend two whole days learning the lyrics and another two to simply memorize them.

Eric took three large gulps of his gin and tonic, turning around to signal to the bartender he wanted another glass. Eric would be sidelined when it came to music, whether it be with the teammates or the England national team. They would normally play some tattoo-faced rapper who was “new and emerging” (why were they always “emerging”?), rap loudly to their lyrics that mostly began with y’all already who it is, and he would roll his eyes on cue, stabbing his ears with his earphones and turning up Beyoncé.

Once Dele had taken off his earphone on the plane and put it in his own ear. He had frowned slightly, Drunk in Love, not the first song – or artist, really – he ever thought Eric would have on his phone let alone listening to it. Actually, he never took Eric for a Beyoncé fan. He was a Bryson Tiller fan after all.

“She’s awesome,” he found himself defending at the moment. “Not all of us can stand your mumbling rappers playing twenty-four-seven.”

“They’re dope, Diet. You have shit taste in music.”

“You have a shit hairline.”

Dele had narrowed his eyes at him and Eric swallowed, not averting his gaze and not backing down from defending Beyoncé. It was not unusual for a white boy in their 20s to like Beyoncé, it should not be if it was, but he loved her music. It was exceptionally good, album after album and it calmed him, as cheesy as it sounded. He did not know but Beyoncé took him to a place where he was at peace with everything, where he could forget about the world itself and just be.

“I’m sorry,” he had mumbled, sensing a shift in the air between them.

Eric looked outside the window of the plane. “It’s fine.”

“I guess I didn’t really pay attention to the music you like, apart from that song by Bryson Tiller.” Dele had twirled the L earphone between his index and thumb. “Can I listen with you?”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a Yoncé fan!”

“If you like her then I’ll like her,” Dele had said earnestly. A small smile broke on Eric’s lips, his heart blooming inside of his chest and threatening to burst the longer they held each other’s gaze.

It was a small, “Okay” from his lips but the big smile on Dele’s face was enough. The whole plane ride he played all of her hits, as a starter pack, he explained to Dele.

A snapping of fingers broke his reverie. “Earth to Eric!”

“What?”

Sonny smiled, amused. “You have been staring at Ruby for a while.”

Eric’s vision cleared and, indeed, Ruby was in his line of vision. She was mouthing along to doctor’s say I’m the illest cause I’m suffering from realness with her small crowd of her girls.

“Dele says you do not like her.”

Eric turned on the spot, helping himself to yet another drink. He was buying time, he knew it, Sonny knew it as he watched him make a scene intensely watching the bartender fill his glass to the brim. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a long sip, eyes everywhere but at Sonny. He tilted his glass, still gulping down his drink, somewhere on the back of his head warning him it probably not a good idea but he ignored it with one last gulp of his drink.

“I do like her.”

Sonny snorted. “It is very obvious you do not, we all noticed.”

Eric frowned. Why were they talking about Ruby? And was he that obvious?

“Are—Okay, fine. I don’t like her,” he confessed and a part of him relaxed for being honest. He turned around, thanking the bartender for his glass. “Does it even matter?”

“To Dele. He cares what you think of him, much more than you think,” he said and Eric spluttered his drink.

“He doesn’t give two shits what I think of his Instagram model of a girlfriend.” Eric shifted his feet. “It’s not like he’s gay so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

Sonny leveled him with a look. “You are dumber than you look.”

Eric was suddenly hot, the room crowded, dumb Jay-Z still playing at this party. Did the DJ not know any other artist? He would even take that Drake dude at this point, just not bloody Jay-Z.

He mumbled under his breath something about going to the bathroom and left Sonny at the pool table. He headed into the main living room, passing Ruby on the way, and stopped. He spotted Dele in the far corner, laughing giddily at something his brother said, their friends laughing along too. Did he mention his friends, too, were Hip-Hop fans? He does not know why but it bothered him that he was the only one in Dele’s circle that did not like the same music as him.

It was one of the reasons he chose to date that Ruby girl, right?

Their eyes met across the room and Eric’s breathe caught in his throat. A body passed before him, blocking his view of Dele and when it passed Dele was still looking across at him. He felt his hand raise up to his head-level and move sideways: essentially waving at Dele. From all the way here, he could spot Dele cock his eyebrow at him, a smile dancing on his lips. He continued waving, dumbly, bodies swaying near him, and kept waving and waving an—

Dele waved back at him. He looked down at his feet, biting back the smiling on his lips from growing too big. This was ridiculous, he was simply waving at the boy who he swore hung the moon and stars, he should absolutely not be blushing like a teenage boy. He looked back up and finding Dele unnervingly looking back at him.

The song switched to another Jay-Z tune, y _ou know the type, loud as a motorbike, but wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight_ , and hot dammit, he was going to find the bloody DJ and have a word with him.

He cocked his head to one side as if indicating to come over. Dele’s eyebrows scrunched together, clear that he was confused. He raised his hand, yet again, and motioned for him to come over. This time Dele understood. He stood up straighter from leaning against the wall, excused himself from his circle of friends, and crossed the room, Eric’s eyes never once leaving the bopping afro, not even when he bumped into dancing bodies, apologizing to others, greeting others, hugging some and finally, stopping before him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Diet.”

“Let’s dance.”

“You hate dancing.”

“Since when?” he feigned surprise.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Eric dumbly looks at his empty glass in his hand. He supposed two… but that was hours ago. He spent a good time doing shots with Moussa, Harry Winks, Ben Chilwell and some other English footballers for the life of him cannot remember now. Later, they played some drinking game, or three, which involved whiskey that he wound up drinking more than the rest and the last thing he remembered is pulling up his shirt for some girl to do body shots on him.

“Tiffany!”

“What?”

He leaned forward, his lips brushing Dele’s earlobes and whispered, “Tiffany.”

Dele looked at him quizzically, a chuckle dancing on his lips. “Who is Tiffany?”

“No. He likes Tiffany’s.”

“Who likes Tiffany’s?” Dele was laughing in his ear and it sounded like sweet thick honey. Did he always sound like this, his drunken brain wondered.

Eric brought a finger to his lips, motioning that it was a secret. Dele sighed, how much did Eric drink tonight? He took his hand and led him through the sweaty, hot crowds, up the stairs bopping to _Now I ain't trying to see no highway chase with Jake,_ _plus I got a few dollars I could fight the case_  until he was with Dele on the balcony, the music somewhere in the distant and very thankful for the cold air on his burning face.

“Maybe I’ve had too much to drink,” Eric said quietly. He could feel Dele’s heavy gaze and the heat on his neck rising quickly. Luckily, it was dark. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“No worries, mate, though I thought you were losing it with Tiffany.”

“Frank Ocean likes Tiffany’s.”

Dele frowned. “How’d you know that?”

“I Googled him.”

Eric still had not looked his way, not knowing where the conversation was heading, but one thing he knew was he was tired. Very much tired of hiding that he was gay and in love with his best friend. Or perhaps his veins were full of whiskey and long reads on the Internet about Frank Ocean, in particular, that he was a gay Muslim, inspired him to do the same: be proud.

“I see all those sessions of rap music in training have converted you to a believer.”

Eric did not laugh along with Dele and for the first time since coming onto the balcony, he looked across at Dele. They were standing facing each other, leaning against the metal rails, the starry night glittering above them. Eric’s fingers twitched against his thighs, the air on his face done cooling him and was sending shivers down his spine (or maybe those were the nerves). He wanted nothing more than to press his palm on Dele’s cheek, thumbing along his cheek and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

“Diet?”

He had zoned out and looked down to his feet. “I… I have a secret. And you’re going to be mad.”

“Is everything alright?”

Eric shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Del. I really am but I can’t do this anymore. It’s been more than two years now but I really can’t keep this secret anymore.”

A hand warmed the back of his neck, his eyes automatically searching for Dele’s and holding his gaze. “You can tell me anything. I wouldn’t hate you.”

“You know why I love Frank? I’m not a huge fan of his but I love his song Bad Religion. From what I got is he is in love with someone, someone he could not have, which to be honest sounds like most love songs. To me, his is different because there’s a deeper reason as to why it is unrequited love. Do you know why?”

Dele’s brows were furrowed in the middle, his head titled trying to make sense of what his best friend was telling him, what was causing Eric to be acting odd all of a sudden.

“Unrequited love has many layers to it and the worst one is when the other person doesn’t love you back because you’re of the same sex.”

He gulped loudly, the hairs on his arms and neck and other exposed skin, standing. Dele’s hand on the back of his neck slowly fell to his side and Eric may as well have been shot multiple times in the chest. Dele’s eyes blew in size, his mouth parting in shock.

“You’re… you can’t be… you aren’t…” Dele struggled to find the words, to string a combination of words into a simple sentence. Was Eric…no, he was not. He could not be. “Love?”

“It’s a bad religion being in love with someone who will never love you.”

“Who’s the—” Dele breathed through his nose and slowly exhaled. He shut his eyes, breathing through his mouth, ignoring the heavy breathing of the older man before him. “Who’s the unrequited love?”

Eric’s bottom lip quivered. This was not good. Dele looked scared, two seconds away from emptying his stomach right here and now. He honestly wanted to cry but he was a gay man on a mission. With far too much Dutch courage. If everything goes downhill, he could always blame it on the whiskey.

“You know by now.”

Dele’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning into Eric’s. “Say it.”

He needed to buy time. If he told Dele everything right now who knows if he would ever have Dele because his secret was coming out. Dele was not going to be his gay secret anymore and he was scared of the truth coming out but, just like Frank, he had to do it or else he would be practicing a bad religion.

“It’s the reason I don’t like Ruby. The same reason I’ve never changed my fabric softener because you said I smelled like heaven. Why I don’t mind you cuddling me when we Netflix and chill because I love it every time we do. Why I love it when you spend nights at my house because I sleep better with you around. Why I let you win in FIFA or Uno because you honestly have the best fucking smile when you do.”

His voice was demanding, cold as the wind this night and his lips in a thin line as he said, “Say it, Eric.”

“You light up like a Christmas tree when you laugh. You don’t like chocolate and when you get chocolate coins you purposefully leave them in my house cause you know I love chocolate. You don’t let anyone touch your hair apart from me, and I hold that with immense pride you’ve got no idea. I let you tease me, joke around me because I’m good to you, always good to you no matter what because you don’t believe anyone could truly love you because you were abandoned by your biological family and believe no one is capable of loving you.”

He paused to take a breath, having spoken through his last sentence without taking a breath for some air.

Dele was shaking his head, his breathing heavy, hard eyes not once leaving Eric’s shimmering ones. He muttered, No, no, Eric, no, in a loop but it felt as loud as wailing sirens to Eric’s ear but he kept going, even if these were his last words to the brown boy.

“But I did. It’s you, Dele, it’s always been you.”

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

“You alright?”

Eric’s heart burst out of his body when a voice screamed eerily close to his ear. He was clutching his chest with a shaky hand, gasping for air with his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the room.

“What the hell, Harry?” he groaned, falling back onto the bed when he spotted that it was only Dele’s adoptive brother. He brought an arm to cover his eyes from the brightness of the room and, hopefully, from the oncoming migraine.

“It’s almost three in the afternoon, mate, and you didn’t look like you were waking anytime soon,” Harry explained nonchalantly. His voice sounded far away as if he was walking towards the end of the room then sounded clearer towards the end. “You’re going to need water, booze and lots of painkillers.”

“Milk.”

“What?”

“I take milk for my hangover.” He was now sitting on the bed, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the room as his brain was slowly waking up. He had clothes on, his phone and wallet were near the glass of water and painkillers on the bedside table and—and where were his clothes? Sure, he was dressed but in grey sweatpants and a large white shirt with Balenciaga written in caps on the front but they were not his.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Do you seriously take milk for your hangover?” Harry laughed. “Bro, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Eric planted both his feet on the floor, taking slow to not move to abruptly to avoid sharp jolts of lightning inside his skull. “It works for me. Where are my clothes, Harry?”

“You don’t remember?”

Eric squinted at him. “Remember what?”

“You basically ended the party,” Harry chuckled.

Eric groaned and literally fell back onto the soft bed. Flashes of last night played through his mind of him and Sonny playing beer pong, doing several rounds of body shots with a redhead, arguing with the DJ for overplaying Jay-Z and nearly knocking out his equipment before Jesse and Marcus dragged him away, and for the big one, confessing to Dele he was, not only gay but in love with him.

“What did I do?”

“What didn’t you do? After you told Dele you love him – yes, he told me – you came downstairs, took the mic from the DJ, stopped the music and confessed you were gay.”

Eric’s eyes popped wide open and jolted up from the bed. “What? No! Please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me I did not confess that! Harry answer me. It’s a lie, right?”

He immediately squinted, the sudden movement not doing good things for his migraine.

“Wish I was, mate. But you did and let’s be honest, none of us were expecting it. What happened after was worse. You shat on Ruby, a lot. You went on and on about how she wasn’t a good girlfriend to Dele, how she didn’t know him as you did, that she was using his fame to make a name for herself in the modeling industry….”

Eric was surprised, in all honesty, with his drunken self. He was secretly patting himself on the back but also second-hand embarrassment was flooding him. “Where was Del?”

“Oddly, he came down when you were mid-Speech which was when Ruby decided to respond.” Harry pursed his lips, averting his eyes away from Eric since entering the room. “She said some hurtful things about you that bordered on homophobia, about your footballing career—They weren’t nice things and Dele defended you.”

The tips of his ears turned pink. “He did?”

“Why are you surprised, mate? Dele will always back you up.”

“I don’t think so, not after last night,” he told him the truth. “I told him I was in love with him and he looked sort of disgusted as if he hoped what I was telling him weren’t true.”

“Well, that sounds strange to me because he was the one that defended you yesterday in front of his girlfriend, brought you here to his room, changed your clothes and tucked you in.”

“He did all this?”

Harry nodded at a flabbergasted Eric. “Again, why are you surprised? Anyway, that’s what happened last night and there may be a video or two posted online about you being gay so… good luck to your PR team.”

Eric cursed under his breath. He stood up from the bed, staggering a little with the sudden movement too much for his brain. “Milk.”

“Come downstairs.”

He followed Harry downstairs, fully aware he was still in Dele’s house mid-afternoon when the entire party was in their own house and he should be, too. Instead, he was sitting in the marble kitchen, re-living the horrors of last night and waiting for a glass of milk that he swore always cured his hangover.

“I don’t how this works for you but you’re a strange man.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

He accepted the tall glass of milk and drank it down. He continued drinking, mostly to avoid the questions dancing in Harry’s eyes, to somehow drink away the humiliation his body was feeling or to drink himself away from reality.

“You’re going to—”

Eric cut him in, “Another?”

“I’m not your maid,” Harry scoffed. He nevertheless took his empty glass to refill with cold milk, adding two teaspoons of sugar at Eric’s request. “You’re lucky Dele told me to make sure you did not die in his room.”

“Where is he?”

“He went out, didn’t say.”

Just then the front door opened and Eric’s heart came to a halt. It was Dele’s voice, clear as day, and his friend, Aaron talking along with him. He sent a panic look to Harry who simply smirked back at him. He pointed to the glass of milk and oh yes, his hangover. He chugged it all down by the time Dele reached the threshold of the kitchen and his sentence petering off when he spotted Eric.

“Didn’t think you’d be awake,” was the first thing he said, speaking to him though he could have been speaking to the fridge as it was the first place he headed for.

“Harry woke me up.”

Dele sent his brother a look to which he responded by rolling his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Eric nodded. He did not sound mad, which was an achievement but the rest was not so good. He was not happy, that much he knew, his voice was tense, so were his shoulders and his eyes were wandering too much as if there was a flea flying in front of his face and his eyelids were following its movement.

“Harry said you tucked me in…”

Dele looked down at the kitchen floor, mumbling under his breath, “You hate sleeping in jeans.”

Eric was utterly confused now. One minute Dele was angry at him for confessing his love and sexuality and the next he was tucking him in bed. Sure, he did not like sleeping in jeans but that was a weak excuse and he knew it.

“I woke up in your T-shirt, too.”

“Ruby threw beer at you,” he politely explained. “Didn’t want you waking up smelling like the floor of a bar.”

“My hangover is not as bad as it should be.”

“I made sure you drank like two pints of water and painkillers,” he said quietly. “I washed the beer off your hair and cuddled you to sleep before I left for a mo.”

He internally cringed. He was a cuddly bear when he was drunk and always managed to drag Dele along with him whenever he got the chance and snuggled real close to him. The last time they did was during Harry Kane’s wife’s birthday party and he had drunk far too much wine. Harry was kind enough to let them sleep the night at his mansion – along with half of the England National Team – and practically stuck to him like a koala. Dele huffed and puffed at how clingy he was yet he did not stop him from pressing his face to Dele’s back as he brushed gargled mouthwash before sleeping as Eric pressed a string of kisses on the back of his neck.

The kitchen was empty now, Harry having walked off during Dele’s conversation, his eyes bravely on his best friend that he was irrevocably in love with.

“But… why?”

“Because you can’t sleep without—”

“No, why would you do that when you’re angry at me?”

Dele looked up and the locked eyes. After a second too long he looked away, pushing himself away from the kitchen counter and walking slowly towards him. Eric turned on his stool, spreading his legs as Dele stood between them and let his arms hang off his own shoulders.

“I’m not mad,” Dele confirmed.

Eric tilted his head, perplexed. “But yesterday….”

“I guess you don’t remember what I told you when you were sleeping?” Dele hummed and Eric was stunned. He shook his head, eyes swimming with confusion. “Well, I told you how you’re always good to me. You let me bite your arm at random times just because, you let me jump on your back during training. I drag you to fun parties with Harry and the others even if you would prefer to stay at home and watch Netflix. You even let me keep all your baggy hoodies and I say I don’t know where they are yet we both know they’re in my closet.”

Eric’s cheeks were burning under Dele’s soft gaze and his words, all his beautiful and pretty words. Dele’s hands moved to tangle on the nape of his neck, lightly scratching with his blunt nails.

“Our trip to Mykonos, do you remember?” he asked rhetorically but Eric nodded his head. “We got stuck in the middle of the road, the wipers literally stopped working, we had two flat tires and I was grumpy as hell. I’ve never told you but I liked that time when we were waiting for the tow truck to come.”

“We just sat in the car, finishing off melted ice-cream in the trunk as we waited.”

“It was lovely because you were kind and caring and so, so good and I wished for the rest of the trip it was just us. But do you know what did it for me? The first time you asked me, about two years ago, ‘Do you love me?’ and I instantly replied, ‘Yes.’ You were drunk and I didn’t think you’d remember. You asked again, and so many times after, and I always said yes. Sometime in between all the ‘Do you love me’s I think I did love you… as more than a friend.”

Eric’s eyes popped open. “Wh-what?”

“I stopped answering yes as a friend but as… more.”

“But… you… why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were always drunk when you asked me so I didn’t want to—But recently when you kept talking about gay famous people like Frank Ocean I thought maybe you were hinting at something but I couldn’t be hopeful, could I?”

“You love me?” Eric asked.

Dele smiled shyly, gazing at Eric beneath his eyelashes. “I do. I don’t know if I’m gay or anything,” he added hastily, “but all I do know is I loved Ruby but now I love you.”

Eric swooned on the spot, probably not so good for him what with his hangover. Luckily, he was sitting down but it did nothing to help him with his mild dizziness with the smell of Dele on him, his hands on his neck, his legs between his thighs and his eyes gazing at him earnestly.

He cupped his hands on Dele’s hips, his thumb pressing on the hemline of his skinny jeans. He pulled him forward, Dele catching on by licking his lips and his hand tilting his neck to the right. He whispered Dele’s name before their lips pressed to each other. Eric swore his heart was on fire, down from the pits of his stomach shooting up to his heart. He snaked his hands underneath Dele’s shirt as he opened up their lips and Eric took his bottom lip, tugging lightly.

The fire burned in his heart as they kissed, and the more they kissed Eric began frowning because this was, surely, not what kissing felt like. Sure, there were fireworks but not a burning sensation inside his stomac—

He pushed Dele away from him suddenly, stepping off the stool and running towards the sink before it was too late. He hurled the contents of last night’s party down the sink, his hands frantically searching above him for the tap to turn it on. The gushing of water down the drain calmed him a bit, exhaling rapidly and trying his best not to stare down at his stomach’s contents in the sink.

“You alright, Diet?”

He hummed, his head still in the sink because oh my days, he was well embarrassed. He already faced enough embarrassment for a lifetime yet here he was, life dishing out more chances for him to outdo himself in Embarrassment Ville. He cleaned his mouth and made sure the sink was only full of water before turning around to find Dele worriedly looking at him.

“So…,” he dragged the word, laughter bubbling on his lips, “where were we?”

Dele snorted then laughed along with him. “If you think I’m kissing your mouth you’ve got another thing coming.”

The following week was quite busy for Eric as anyone could have imagined. First, his PR team was working harder than they have ever worked in their time signed to Eric what with many papers wanting a word with Eric, radio stations wanting a little chat with Eric for his perspective on gay footballers and TV stations dying for an interview on his journey as an openly gay English footballer.

On the other hand, the same paper houses were running the story of Ruby and Dele’s very public break up – what with leaked videos from her birthday party all over Youtube – and now with Eric’s coming out, people were starting to put two and two together. After all, they had always been close.

His Spurs teammates welcomed him with open arms for his coming out, Son clapping his back with a finally you’re out. Poch’s Speech had him tearing, assuring him that he would feel safe here at Spurs and if anyone so much as treated him differently to tell him immediately. Southgate gave him a call no sooner with a congratulatory message on his bravery and relayed the same message to him that Poch stated.

He was most probably afraid of his family’s reactions. He was pleasantly surprised they took it well, his siblings have guessed he was gay, apparently how he acted around Dele, staring at him longingly, their hold on each other too friendly for two men who were just mates. His father said he was always proud of him and his mother would always love him.

But as of now, he was content to be stretched out on the couch, Dele’s head laying in the middle of his chest, their hands held together on his stomach. They were watching Peaky Blinders – or meant to but Eric peppered kisses on Dele’s neck every two seconds that he gave up on watching the show, instead of grinning from ear to ear at the lovely attention.

“I listened to Bad Religion the other day,” Dele said, turning his head back and gazing up at Eric.

“Yeah?”

“I still don’t know how you’re a fan of Frank but still. It’s a great song, pity about the whole unrequited love and all. But that’s not us.”

“No, because you’re not my unrequited love.”

“We’re a good religion.”

Eric hummed, “It’s a good religion,” to his lips and kissed him deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another attempt at writing for this scarce, precious ruby of a ship [= im not gonna lie, it's a challenge writing one-shots as im used to writing full blown fanfics but (shrugs and awkwardly walks off)....
> 
> i love reading your feedbacks, the good, the bad and the ugly i really don't mind. or if you just wanna say hey [; thanks so much for reading this far, too [=
> 
> tchao x


	5. This is my idea of fun, playing video games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dele and Eric find their love by playing Sims 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: had to adjust how to play SIMS 4 for the sake of this story
> 
> enjoy ㋡

 

“What have we learned today?” Eric asked, all coy and feeling superior.

Dele huffed, blowing the inside of his cheeks and grabbed the bottle of beer on the kitchen counter, heading down to Eric’s game room in the basement.

He really should not be cocky but then again, he was the champ at nutmegs.  He knew it, Eric knew it, Son knew it, all the Spurs boys knew it, Poch, hell even the physio attendants knew it and yet he lost to Eric at something he was a champ at. The bet came early in training on a cold February Tuesday morning at which Dele, like always, challenged Eric to a nutmeg. He stated that if he could successfully nutmeg him five times he would for two whole days be his chauffeur – not just driving the both of them to training like he usually did, but anywhere he wanted. Eric said if he nutmegged Dele five times did then they would play Sims.

Yes, Sims. Sims 4 to be specific. Eric was also a gamer, do not get him wrong, it was just the sort of video games Dele was not interested in.

Fortnite? Nah.

GTA? In your dreams.

Call of Duty? No, thank you, not his cup of tea.

“Fuck off, Diet,” Dele groaned stepping down the stairs, Eric tailing behind in loud cackles.

He had been asking (read begging) for Dele to play with him for weeks but Dele would scoff, roll his eyes and say he was not going to play a dumb game like Sims 4. He had better things to do, after all (and if those things included playing Fortnite nightly then so be it). So when the challenge was set, with Son and Jan keeping score, and shaking their hands on it, there was no backing down. Eric knew that if he lost he would never be able to convince Dele to play Sims 4 with him, therefore, he had the fire to win.

And oh win did he so much so he nutmegged Dele seven times this morning in training just because. If he was being honest, he had never concentrated and trained this hard in a session in a long time. To say the looks of utter shock and surprise on the Spurs team, even the media who were on the sidelines taking photos, was an understatement. Dele, too, was stunned to the point he walked off towards one of the media personnel, demanding to see proof, evidence not trusting Jan for one second in case he was rooting for Eric.

The media found this challenge fun and played along, showing Dele (with Eric standing behind him laughing with Jan) the footage. Lo and behold, each nutmeg went in successfully and after the third nutmeg Dele was always unaware, somewhere in the background Eric and Jan giving each other high fives in celebration.

“Sore loser, are we?” Eric tsk’d. “As expected, Delboy. You never do like losing.”

Dele was sulking after that, Eric and Jan laughing at every chance they got and Eric reminding him delightfully how they would play Sims 4 all day long for two days as per the agreement and since the day had already passed they would start the following day from 11:00 AM sharp until late into the night.

So, here they were. Dele had arrived about 40 minutes ago, regretting waking up today but a deal was a deal. Also, a part of him was sort of excited for today because he was getting to spend the day with his best friend and not think about life which was enough to put a smile on his face on his drive to Eric’s house.

Of course, he was never going to tell him that!

Dele let out a long-suffering sigh, plopping down on the large neon green beanie bag, twisting open the cap of his Guinness and taking a sip. Eric set about turning on the giant TV screen, getting the game ready and looking for his extra controller.

Eric tossed the extra controller at Dele and sat beside him on the bean bag as the game loaded on the screen. “I still don’t get why you don’t like Sims. It’s such a fun game.”

“It’s dumb.”

“Not as dumb at Fortnite! All you do on that game is fly around, kill nonsensical things, yadda yadda yadda.”

Dele turned and narrowed his eyes at Eric. “Compared to a game where all you do is live life, get married then die.”

Eric gawked, clearly affronted. “It’s so much more than that.”

Dele never heard the addition to that statement as he turned his head to the screen to find the game had loaded. They were not ready to properly play the game because they needed to create their characters not to mention build a house. Dele suggested that they begin with their characters which Eric easily agreed.

“There are, like, different occasions for these outfits?” Dele questioned. He was spinning his character on the screen evaluating his ‘Fancy wear’ and later realizing that there were other occasions for more outfits.

“Of course. You don’t wear the same outfits all the time, do you? In the game, there are different categories of swimwear, sportswear, sleepwear…” He trailed off when he was dressing his own character in said outfit and immediately fell in love with the pink bunny slippers on his feet that he paired with a lilac onesie. Dele chose shorts and black sliders.

Dele was now choosing his Sportswear, as Eric was changing his facial appearance. He wanted to have a beard with some bit of hair on his head, like how he looked two, three years ago like a Prince.

“You look prettier clean shaven.”

Eric smiled at the screen. “Aww, you think I’m pretty?”

Dele snorted under his breath. “You wish.” He finally picked sporty wear that was the closest to the Spurs Third kit of a turquoise-green color. “You look nice, like.”

Eric looked over at his best friend, resolutely looking at the screen but his fingers were not moving on the controller. He reached through the small distance between them to cup Dele’s wrist, squeezing only slightly. The other man briefly looked down then back at the screen, willing himself not to look Eric’s way but Eric swore the corner of his lip tugged up.

He returned to himself in the game, now focusing on his facial features. He was fussy, sure, but Dele was worse. He complained that his eyebrows were too thick, his lips too thin, his nostrils were large enough to see the hairs inside his nose, his hairline was not right, apparently it was too far back making look like he had a giant forehead. Eric murmuring Nothing too far off from reality than to which Dele promptly punched him on the arm.

He was done with his character a while later when Dele was fumbling, yet again, with his facial features. He was flipping through the different hairstyles – somewhat accepting that his hairline would remain shit – and was now picking a hair color because black was simply basic.

“Brown? Again?”

“What’s wrong with brown?”

“It’s Sims, Delboy. Live a little.” Eric pursed his lips for a moment in thought. “Lilac maybe? Or blue?”

“You want my afro to have, like, blue tips?” he questioned. “This is why nobody asks for your fashion advice.”

“Fine, be basic then.”

He concentrated back to his own character, time to pick personality traits. He decided to put that off for now and went back to his Sims character and stopped on his everyday look. He was donned in what he felt comfortable with – a hoodie, pair of jeans and trainers. He liked it, to be fair, but maybe he should take his own advice of living life precariously through his Sim character. So he opted for something smooth: a pair of pink chinos that showed off his ankles, a blue blazer with a scarf to top it off. He felt like one of the poets who read deep poems about life and whatnot.

“No!” he shouted, startling Dele. He was, yet again, wondering about his eyebrows. He grabbed his controller to Dele’s protests and adjusted them as appropriately similar to Dele. “You’ve been on them eyebrows for centuries now and I am not going to waste my video game time with you deciding on how thick you want your eyebrows. There,” he said, handing back the controller once he fixed Dele’s eyebrows.

“I don’t like my nose! It’s too, like, pointy now. First, my nostrils were massive, now they’re pointy.”

Eric groaned, throwing his head back against the bean bag. This was taking longer than he intended. And they still had not chosen their character traits, picked their names nor created their house.

Finally, finally, after what felt like hours – it might as well have been – Dele was done with his character and now they were on building their house.

“Pool, we must have a pool.”

Suddenly remembering something that he had been missing when creating their characters, he said, “We haven’t even named our characters.”

Eric set about selecting letters on the screen to type out his name not thinking too much about it. His eyes shifted to Dele’s half of the screen where he had typed his first name in small caps but the cursor continuously blinked on the box below requiring his surname.

“Does it bother you?”

“Sometimes,” Dele admits quietly.

Dele, some years back, decided to drop his surname Alli from the back of all his shirts. They had not talked about it for long, casually dropped in the conversation when they had gone bowling. He told Eric that his bastard of a father was always going to be good for nothing and Dele did not feel pride, nor any connection, to him. Besides, the Hickford’s were much more of a family than his biological parents would ever be.

The cursor blinked back at them, Dele chewing on his bottom lip as if debating which surname he could put now that he no longer related to Alli. Eric had assumed he would have left it blank as he never talked about taking the Hickford surname, remaining to always be known as Dele.

“How about just Dele?”

Dele turned his head to look at him. “That’d look weird, innit? Like, you’ve got a surname and mine’s empty.”

“Not so much. People don’t always have surnames like Madonna.”

Dele chuckled. “Madonna? Is that the first name that popped into your mind?”

Eric was laughing beside him, shrugging at the same time because yes, Madonna was on his mind. Belatedly, his mind brought up names of footballers who went by first names alone like Ronaldinho or Pele.

“How about,” he began, then paused his eyes glazing over the MK Dons boy, “Dier? Dele Dier?”

Dele’s eyes shifted over Eric’s shoulder, lips pursed as he toyed with the idea in his head. It would not be the first time this happened. See, their bromance was getting stronger that as a joke their teammates would often ask Eric, ‘where is the other half of Dier?’ referring to him. It tilted him a little bit at first, but the more it happened, the more he found that he did not hate it. In fact, he sort of liked it (obviously he would never give the Spurs that satisfaction or else he would not hear the end of their teasing) and would sometimes whisper it to himself just to feel how it rolled off his tongue and completely ignored the flutters in his heart.

“Dele Dier?” was the first time he said it out loud to Eric. “Has, like, a ring to it.”

“It’s settled then,” beamed Eric. “We’re Dele and Eric Dier. The Dier’s.”

And Dele did not have a problem with that at all. 

 

The whole bet was for the both of them to play Sims 4 for two days and the following week, when they did not have training, Dele drove over to Eric’s house mid-afternoon.

“You’re late! The day has basically gone and this isn’t part of the bet agreement,” Eric had said as soon as he opened the door for Dele.

“I’ll stay the night,” he said, dismissing him.

“In that case, I can cook. We’re not calling Deliveroo as we did before,” said Eric following his best friend into the kitchen.

“Nothing wrong with deliveries.”

“Nothing like a home-cooked meal,” he hummed.

Dele did not know how to cook but Eric was an excellent cook, so good he could compete on MasterChef without breaking a sweat. Well, at least that was what Dele thought. He found it endearing watching his best friend work himself in the kitchen, coming up with cuisines at the top of his head – whether or not they were actual cuisines, he did not know – and managing to not burn the house down.

He attempted to cook that one time, his brother, Harry, right beside him as he made sausages and bacon. To say his breakfast was burnt to a crisp was an understatement, judging by the alarm going off and the kitchen hood nosily carrying out all the smoke from the kitchen. Harry was the better cook between them but he only cooked the basics at the bare minimum or anything that he could pop into the microwave or oven and these devices did the cooking.

Of course, Eric came into his life and, of course, he was a good cook. He had lived in Portugal, after all. Dele’s platter was spoilt from day one when he cooked for him and has been ever since. He could not stand Harry’s cooking anymore, he tolerated eating out as they never tasted quite as good as Eric’s cooking. The so-called Portuguese did not mind cooking for Dele, finding cooking for more than two better than one and did it as often as they were together with a kitchen nearby.

And if Dele often made lame excuses to visit Eric simply for his food, then so be it, he was guilty and was not ashamed of it. They both knew it and besides, Eric secretly loved it, too.

“What would you like today?”

“What was that pasta thing you made on Friday? It had, like, peas and things in it?”

“Pasta with Turkey sausage and peas?” questioned Eric and Dele nodded enthusiastically. “Alright, I can make that. I should have some—are you eating?” Eric stopped to turn around finding Dele graciously helping himself to last night’s dinner of stir-fried noodles. “I am literally cooking right now.”

“Yeah, but, like, by the time it’s ready, I’ll be half full,” Dele reasoned, having already taken a fork, twisted it inside the bowl and chewing on the crunchy, cold noodles.

Eric sighed. “At least warm the food, Delboy. Eating cold beef is odd.”  

Dele did warm last night’s dinner in the microwave and about an hour later, a late lunch was ready. It would have taken less than that if Dele did not keep showing him funny memes on Instagram and stories of the NFL celebrities he followed religiously. They found themselves before the familiar large screen, Sims 4 loading as Eric settled down, a mozzarella stick between his lips and Dele not believing he was still eating.

“M’growing boy,” he mumbled around the mozzarella stick.

Dele shook his head, knowing he would steal some of them in between them playing Sims so he did not complain too much. Besides, he ate for free at Eric’s house enough that he should have started charging him ages ago.

“What kind of house are we looking for?”

“I’ve always wanted to live in, like, a mansion,” Dele mused. “Since I was younger, I admired them, including castles, but of course that would’ve never happened what with my mother barely stable and, like, my dad fucking off to Nigeria.”

“I’m sure we can get a mansion easily, though we need to try a few cheat codes.”

“Why?”

“We can’t afford to buy a mansion right off the bat, we aren’t rich in the game.”

“But we will, right?” Dele asked, raising an eyebrow in question. He nodded back at him, chewing on a cheesy mozzarella stick.

They were hours into the game, having managed to afford a mansion but later decided on something slightly smaller as the many floors were troublesome what with all the walking up and down the stairs. Eric suggested they get a three-floor house that had an attic and a basement (Dele booked the basement excitedly saying it was going to be his video game den and Eric was not allowed in)(Eric rolled his eyes demanding the same request with the attic). They had built the bedrooms, each focusing on their own rooms, painting the walls, the floors, beds, other miscellaneous items such as cupboards, lights, et cetera that were essential.

For shared spaces such as bathrooms and open corridors, they argued on the colors, what they could add and what they could definitely not add.

“I am not going to live in a house that has hanging vines inside the house!” Eric huffed, immediately deleting the hanging vines that were meant to be décor for the guest bathroom.

“And I’m not having colors in our bathroom. I want something vibrant and eye-catching like leaves or mountains or paintings. Something that, like, stands out.”

Eric promptly deleted the multicolor stripes he had set up in the guest bathroom. “Your bathroom is plain white, anyway.”

“But this isn’t mimicking real life,” Dele pointed out. “I’m living my best life as you said last week and my best life is, like, lots of colors.”

“Not too much color, there has to be some coordination, obviously.”

“What color do you want for the bathroom?”

“Blue.”

“And I want yellow. I’m sure we can, like, combine yellow and blue.” Eric cringed and Dele rolled his eyes. “What now? Don’t tell me that looks messy.”

“Blue and white instead?” Eric tried. He created a striped wallpaper of blue and white for the bathroom walls and Dele inspected it for a minute. “It gives off a beach vibe, methinks.”

Dele relented, still insisting on yellow but maybe for another bathroom. Perhaps they should have been having a theme in mind, to begin with. So, once they proceeded to the floor below, after relentless bickering back and forth between color schemes and what not to add to rooms (“We can’t have a jacuzzi in the library, Delboy!” “It’s different!”), they decided to start with the kitchen as the living room had a potential for disagreements. 

In between playing Sims, mozzarella sticks over (Dele did steal some, after all), they closed the gap between them. They were leaning on each other on the comfy beanie bag in his basement, Eric’s limbs stretched before him as Dele sat cross-legged with his knee rested on Eric’s thigh warmly. 

“I swear our house is going to be a rainbow by the time we are done,” Eric chuckled.

“A bit of color never hurt anyone, like,” Dele commented.

“We always had colors in the homes I lived in growing up,” said Eric. “I remember the house we lived in before moving to Portugal. My mom had been fired and she devoted her time to redecorating the house. Take the lounge, for example, she would basically have one part of the wall is one color, another wall another color and in the end, the room was a rainbow.”

Dele laughed along to his story, imaging a rainbow room in Eric’s childhood home in Gloucestershire.

“To make it worse, she did that all over the house. I swear when my dad came from his trip from Bangkok he wanted to move out and I honestly think it’s why we went to Portugal.”

Dele laughed harder, arching into Eric’s personal space. “I can’t imagine the guests who came over and were, like, confused by the color scheme.”

“It’s only my mom who invited her friends. The rest of us rarely did and we learned the hard way through my brother, Eddie. He had invited one of his friends one time. The next day, he told the whole school about our house and it stuck with him all through middle school.”

“At Harry’s place it was always white, white, white,” Dele answered when he had calmed down and Eric asked about the color scheme of his house when he grew up. “When I moved to London, I didn’t know better so I followed Sally’s color scheme of, like, white, grey and black.” He paused, concentrating on a spot on Eric’s shoulder. “I never thought I would, like, have my own place let alone a great place like Harry’s so I didn’t, like, put too much thought into it. It’s not bad, it’s just.” He let out a sigh.

Eric patted his leg twice. “Now you have your own place so you get a say in it.”

“Décor takes time and I’ve got football and Leo Fortis and—”

“I meant the Sims,” Eric giggled which had Dele rolling his eyes at him.

“I knew that.”

In the end, they managed to work well when deciding on the rooms and their matching colors. They agreed to have a theme for the house – a vintage, 18th century feel and after that, they bounced ideas off each other. Eric was pleasantly surprised, not having taken Dele for someone who could give two cents on interior design but it seemed he cared a lot about.

It probably meant nothing but it was so, so easy creating and building the Dier house together. They worked well as a team, and Eric did not mind wondering on the off chance if they ever did live together – in a parallel universe, or whatever – they would have it pretty easy.

Dele was stretching beside him, his hands raised way high above his head which was thrown back. Eric’s eyes accidentally fell on the strip of skin where his T-shirt stretched a little too far. He had seen his best friend shirtless countless times, down to his white briefs even during training when they would emerge from showers but here, hidden by four walls playing video games it felt different. It felt like a secret this time. Maybe because the other times there was always someone else but, right now, it was only him, just for him.  The longer he looked at the strip of skin, there was a small warm feeling opening up inside his heart.

“You’re staring.”

His head whipped up to Dele looking back at him, his hands still above his head and Eric spluttered. “Wasn—No. Course not—I mean—No. Not stari—You imbecile!” He punched him in the arm when Dele began laughing at his incoherence and stuttering. “For fuck’s sake.”

“You’re honestly, like, the worst,” Dele chuckled, his laughter dying down.

Eric rolled his eyes, rolling as well away from Dele on the beanie bag moving to stand up. “I think you’ve played enough Sims. You’ve been laughing at me too much this night.”

“No, no, no, no,” Dele said, his hand reaching out for Eric who quickly dodged it. “I’m joking, like. Let’s play some more. We still have to plant flowers and add gnomes to our garden.”

Eric resolutely shook his head, signing out of his account. “Nope.” He set the controller down by the wall, the background music playing lightly around the room. “Also I’m proper knackered.”

Dele pouted. “What about my flowers?”

“Sunflowers, yeah?” Eric asked, accepting the black controller Dele placed in his hand. Dele nodded to him as he pushed down on the beanie bag, pulled his legs to his chest and settled his hands underneath his head as if to sleep. “I’ll add them in, don’t worry. And you better not be getting comfortable to be sleeping.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dele said, his voice mellow and slow.

The outro music was still playing in the background as Eric sat before his best friend on the carpet floor. “Hey.”

Dele grinned, popping one eye open. “Hi.”

“Thanks for playing Sims with me. You didn’t have to do this.”

“A bet’s a bet, Diet. Plus, I am a man of my word,” he said, winking at Eric. He could not help the smile playing on his lips which grew bigger when Dele palmed the back of his neck, tickling him lightly. He pulled him forward, Eric moving without resisting and his nose landed on Dele’s throat. “I had fun.”

“Yeah?” he asked, the little hairs on Dele’s chin brushing his lips.

“More than I thought I would, like.” His smile was lopsided but Eric could not see that. Instead, he felt the light tickles on the nape of his neck.

Eric turned his head and his lips tentatively brushed on Dele’s chin, then for the second trial, he pressed his lips his chin this time, not as an accident. His mind was questioning if it was weird, if mates kissed each other’s chins and perhaps he should move away, this was getting awkward for the both of them, surely. But he felt the skin move on his lips as Dele swallowed, his lips parting slightly.

Eric pulled back only lightly and the two brain cells left screamed for him to stop, to not do the silly idea that was growing in his mind. Too late. Warm air tingle the skin on Dele’s chin, nothing too weird his two brain cells agreed, but then Eric opened his mouth and his tongue darted out. He dragged the pink tip of his tongue on that small part of Dele’s smooth skin.

His brain cells screamed to do it in a sexy way but really, there was no sexy way to do it so they compromised and he did it twice. Dele’s fingers ran down the nape of his neck, the only indication that he was responding to Eric’s tongue licking, and ran further down past the neck of his T-shirt.

His swore his brain cells died and now he had none. He mentally slapped himself, hopefully waking up his entire brain, because he was having a whole montage in his head about two brain cells and dragging his tongue on Dele’s chin.

“The music has stopped,” Eric reminded him of breaking the silence in the room. 

“Hmm?”

“Sims. The outro music has ended.”

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

To say he was surprised would be completely correct. Sure the bet was over and Dele played with Eric Sims 4 for two days as per the bet agreement but Dele texted him asking if he was free this afternoon. He was barely five minutes away from the stadium after their morning training when he checked his phone at a red light and Dele could not have been that far, either. He replied he was having lunch with his sisters but was free in the evening. Dele replied Cool and two seconds later his Samsung buzzed with a don't forget the password 2 ur Sims account.

Eric had stared at the message for so long that the horns from behind his car alerted him to his surroundings and spotted the green light. Lunch with his sisters went marvelously and after the sun had set, he was walking through Dele’s doors.

“Hey, Harry!”

“Hey, bro,” Harry greeted him. “You alright?”

“Not too bad, you?”

“Doing alright. Going out tonight for Aaron’s birthday.”

Eric looked puzzled. “Are all of you going?”

“Dele said he has a headache so he’s staying,” he replied. Right then a horn was heard from the outside of the house. “Right, that should be Ruby and Brad picking me up. See you later, bro.”

Eric bid him goodbye and headed for the kitchen. He made his way to the fridge, opened it and smiled. In the bottom fridge, there were bottles of wine that Dele usually bought just because he liked them and kept them in the fridge. He particularly did not like beer and would opt for wine given the chance which Dele caught early on whenever he would come over to his place.

He picked the wine bottle, couple of beers, glasses and headed towards Dele’s game room. He found Dele on all fours, the torch on his phone on shining underneath his black couch.

“What are you looking for?”

Dele briefly looked up at him, grinning from ear to ear seeing it was Eric, then returned to looking below the couch. “My gold ring. It fell underneath the couch.”

“The Fortnite one?” Eric asked, making himself comfortable on the couch. He opened the bottle of red, pouring a generous amount into the beer glass, yes, beer glass. He watched Dele nodding from the floor as he took a sip. “It’s pretty easy to get another one.”

“Not exactly. They make, like, four in a year and sell them for crazy prices.”

“You can get yours custom made which is what you did. Spent 45 grand on a stupid ring, in my opinion,” he mumbled under his breath but Dele heard him loud and clear.

Dele’s head popped from the floor and promptly gave him the stink eye. The other man simply drank wine, unbothered by the stink eye. Dele gave up on finding the ring when Eric was well into his second glass saying he would look for it tomorrow.

The last time they played Sims 4, they had finished building their house and as promised, Eric did plant the sunflowers around the house and adding a laundry machine because we need to be clean even if we wear the same clothes, Dele insisted that time on the phone. Eric had been playing Sims by himself, and had already gotten a job as a nurse at the hospital – something that he never thought he would ever do and was that not what Sims 4 was all about? Creating a parallel universe where, at the risk of sounding cliché, everything was possible?

“Can’t believe you’re a nurse and I’m just, like, a human,” Dele said when Sim Eric was making his way to work at 5:09 AM.

“You can do anything… apart from something sporty.”

“Why not?”

“We’re footballers, innit? We are pretending we are in a parallel universe, remember?” Eric said and Dele agreed. “What career would Dele do in a parallel universe?”

Dele stuck his bottom lip out, deep in thought. “How about, like, a jeweler? It’s different and it’s not something I’d do in this lifetime, even if I wasn’t a footballer.”

“Sick.”

“Does it have a lot of money?”

Eric slowly turned his head to pointedly look at him. “Are you choosing a career that has money in it?”

“Of course. We’ve got to somehow pay for the bills and shit. I still want a jacuzzi and it costs money. Can’t do that on, like, a jeweler’s salary.”

“I’ll pay for it,” said Eric. “It seems nursing pays well.”

Dele looked at him as if he had grown two heads. “But it’s mine, why would you pay for it?”

“It’s my gift to you for your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“It’s a gift, Del. Just accept it.”

Dele groaned. “Fine,” he groaned as Eric was insisting and, truthfully, he was half-heartedly fighting against the idea. “Only if you go out with me tonight.”

“Okay,” he easily agreed. It was only when Sim Eric had come home at 4:01 PM and Dele was transporting them to the restaurant at a new venue that it dawned on him that Dele meant a date.

They were going on a date.

Dele Dier was taking him on a date. Sim Dele was dressed to the nines and he was, still, in his work clothes.

“… is this a date, Del?” he asked not daring to look at Dele. He watched Sim Eric follow Sim Dele into the restaurant.

“Yes,” he whisper-answered and something shifted in the air between them.

Eric’s lips parted, proper surprised about it now. It was not that it was something new as they normally ate together, at both fast food and table cloth restaurants but this, going to a video game restaurant was different and… intimate, dare he say?

“We can leave, like…” Dele spoke again after Eric had been silent a moment too long.

“No.” He quickly came back to as his ears turned a deep shade of pink. “No, it’s—it’s fine. I’m just surprised. I should change then, can’t be wearing work clothes on a date.”

Dele offered him a small smile. Eric changed his clothes to fancy wear where he was donned in a navy suit, tie, and excellent dress shoes. They were indeed at a posh restaurant, Sim Eric once again following Sim Dele to their seats. Sim Dele pulled a chair for him at which Sim Eric sat, a love heart appearing above his head at the gesture.

“Thank you, Delboy.”

“Welcome, Diet,” Dele said and Eric could feel the smile in his words.

It was endearing watching the Sim version of themselves on a date, Eric’s insides a nice, cozy warm feeling filling him up from the inside out. Dele rarely showed his shy side, always putting on a mask for everyone he met with his charms and banter, so when he opened up a little more and dropped his mask, Eric pocketed the memory in his brain for keeps.

Take now, this was not normal, everyday Dele. For one, Dele would not be playing Sims with him (or anyone for that matter) and would have headed out with Harry to Aaron’s birthday party. If by some luck Dele was playing Sims, he would not be on a date with him. He would be somewhere off murdering random characters, punching people for fun or trying to find ways to turn into a vampire for the fun of it.

Sim Dele was complementing Sim Eric on his appearance, his personality, making funny jokes with him all of which were action prompts by Dele. Eric’s heart was singing beside Dele on the couch, did not care that his cheeks were bright pink nor that he was edging towards Dele on the couch.

“This is nice,” he whispered as if saying it at a normal octave would shatter the moment (which was ridiculous because their Sim characters could not hear them).

“You think so?”

“Of course,” he told him, erasing the doubt that was in Dele’s voice. “I’m having a grand time. See, my character keeps popping hearts above his head.”

“Luckily the food is good. I didn’t want to, like, go to a shitty place for our first date.”

“It wouldn’t matter, Delboy. I’d be happy with wherever we were.”

Dele hummed noncommittally. They each had set a lot of prompt actions to their Sim characters – mainly filled with funny jokes, being flirty with each other, feeding each other food – that gave Eric time to refill his beer glass with wine and Dele popped open his second beer.

“I think Ruby is using me for my fame.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked, turning to gaze at him.

Dele shook his head slightly as he spoke, “I can’t explain it, like. She’s trying to be a model, innit? So I connect her to brands like Pretty Little Thing, Topshop, Iconic London, and it’s not a big deal for me, like, it’s easy to get them to sponsor her.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Except nowadays she’s asking for Gucci and Fendi which are a bit harder and more known than the others.”

“What does Ruby want?”

“To model for them. I do get through and get her a foot in the door but that is all I can, like, do. When we’re together it’s all she talks about, which fashion house she wants next, which ones I can get her in through and it’s becoming less about, like, us as a couple.”

Eric took drank his wine. “Is that why you didn’t go out with Harry tonight?”

Dele nodded. “She would ask if I got the call from Balenciaga yet. Truthfully, I haven’t because I already have a great relationship and I don’t want to, like, use my name with these brands to get her modeling gig with them.”

“Has it happened?”

“Gucci doesn’t answer my calls anymore,” Dele said regretfully. “I told Ruby this and, like, she said I lost the chance for both of us and shouldn’t have, like, thought about myself the whole time.”

Eric gaped. “No!”

“I almost lost it at the moment,” Dele gritted through his teeth. “I can’t do the same with Balenciaga. They have decent clothes… Do you wanna head out?”

Eric was confused, briefly wondering if he had too much wine already, at his question when he realized he was talking about their Sims. The dinner seemed to be over as Dele was paying for their meal and then headed out. He let go of their previous conversation, setting to the backburner for now.

“It’s barely 11 o’clock so we can go somewhere before heading home?” Eric suggested.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Well I have low energy—and so do you, too, so let’s head to the spa. It’s a good way to get our energy up before we pass out on the ground.”

Eric transported their Sim characters to the nearby spa after Dele agreed to the plan. They walked to the establishment which was filled with wood structure everywhere, from the floors to the walls including the ceilings and pillars. The two Dier’s made their way into one of the spas, Eric paying for the service and both sat together in a sauna where they would get their energy levels up.

“Did Maria ever ask for favors from you?” Dele asked, his voice quiet to Eric’s ears.

He knew they were having a serious conversation but his heart was singing melodies at having to see and spend time with shy Dele who was soft around the edges mixed with soft speeches.

“Just the normal ones you’d expect like a shout out, a follow back for her friends, a free pass into some exclusive club…,” he listed off the favors he did for his ex-girlfriend, Maria.

She was a lovely girl, Eric knew that and he was extremely lucky. She was not like the other English WAGs who lived for the flashing lights but Maria ventured away from the spotlight choosing to live her own life without cameras following her around. Unfortunately, she received a promotion at her workplace and it would be taking place in Australia. Eric was not up for another long-distance relationship with her and she was not going to quit her job to remain in England hence the inevitable break up. They talked from time to time, forever grateful that they were still friends even after their breakup and he considered her one of his closest friends.

“How is she?”

“She’s great. She is traveling to Sydney for her friend’s baby shower this weekend,” he told him. “As for Ruby, do you think she truly would use you just because of who you are? I mean, if she loves you completely, you know she wouldn’t.”

“Harry said that it was, like, normal for it to happen. Apparently, most footballer’s girlfriends ask for something similar—but, like, I can’t chase the feeling that I’m being used.”

Eric dropped his controller on his lap. He cupped the back of Dele’s neck and with his other hand did the same, turning Dele’s head to force him to gaze at him. He bit down on his lip, hoping his brain cells would dig something deep and meaningful to say. As Eric was deep in thought, he missed Dele’s glance following the movement of his lips, how his teeth sunk on his bottom lip pulling down on it then his tongue darting to wet his lips.

“Fuck her.”

There goes his deep and meaningful statement, he belatedly thought.

“What?”

“Fuck her,” he repeated.

“I heard what you said, I’m just.” Dele frowned intensely. “I don’t know what you mean, like… like literally?”

“No. Not that,” Eric shook his Dele’s head sideways to emphasize his point. “My dad always said never ignore your gut feeling, it’s your spirit telling you things your head cannot understand. If you feel deep down that Ruby is using you for her modeling career, fuck her and dump her. Yes, maybe both of you started off on a clean slate but people do change.”

“I suppose.”

“If you tell her, for example, that the Balenciaga modeling gig did not come through, see her reaction. If it the same as the Gucci one then you have your answer.”

Dele considered his point for a second before nodding to himself. “I can do that. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. If I’m being, like, honest, I have a feeling I already know her reaction and it’s not good.”

“Test it out first, alright? Don’t dismiss her yet.”

Dele smiled at him joyfully, his eyes darting between his. “Alright, Diet.”

“Now c’mon, I think our spa is finished and we can head home.”

“Can’t do that with you holding my head hostage,” he chuckled.

Eric looked embarrassment, his hands falling from Dele’s neck and reaching for his wine. He took several sips of it, mostly to wet his mouth from the dryness, but also to find something to distract his singing, thumping heart.

“Thank you for date night,” Eric said once their Sims were back home. Sim Eric was taking a shower and Sim Dele was loading the laundry.

“It was decent, like. One of the best dates I’ve been on in a while,” Dele said shyly. “Even if it was in, like, a video game.”

“Me too. I don’t think I’ve been on a proper date since I broke up with Maria.”

“What about that Russian girl?” he asked. He commanded his Sim to fix the fridge which had suddenly broken down in the kitchen.

Eric shook his head, snorting. “She was terrible, kept laughing at nothing the entire time.” Eric threw his head back against the couch. “Dating is not easy when you’re, well, us.”

His Sim character had finished taking a bath, changed to his PJs and was standing by the cupboard in their bedroom waiting for Sim Dele who was still downstairs fixing the fridge.

“Tell me about it,” grunted Dele in agreement.

“No wonder Hollywood stars date each other. It’s because they get each other and forget the hassle of dating non-famous people.”

Dele hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to, like, worry if they’re in it for the money or using you for fame.”

“Maybe footballers should take Hollywood’s advice.”

“And let’s date each other, like,” Dele chuckled then winked at him.

He laughed, his laughter sounding funny in his ear as it was a cross between a squeal and a gasp but somehow with a hint of laughter. Dele did not seem to notice as he turned back to the large TV screen to command his Sim to head to the bedroom where Sim Eric was roaming by the cupboard.

Sim Eric walked away from the cupboard when Sim Dele walked into the room and headed for him, hugging him without any commands. They parted, talking in Sim language which was followed by laughter from Sim Dele, Sim Eric still making what seemed to be a funny joke or conversation, it was hard to tell.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone decent, Diet,” Dele said his head laid back against the couch just like Eric. “There’s a girl out there who is perfect for you.”

“Cheers, Delboy,” he grinned as he pulled Dele closer to his side, the other folding himself quite nicely to him.

On their own, instead of heading to bed, their Sims walked downstairs to the TV room where they settled beside each other to watch TV… With said device turned off.

“Are we seriously staring at a blank TV?” Dele cackled. “It’s nearly 3 AM and we’re watching a blank TV.”

“Sim characters are so awkward, sometimes.”

“But we’re, like, cool awkward.”

“Is that a compliment?” Eric turned his head slightly, coking his eyebrow at the other Spurs teammate.

“We’re cool, then. Just cool.”

“Of course we’re cool. The Dier’s are always cool.”

“That they are,” Dele hummed in complete agreement.

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

“Everybody is getting pissed drunk back at the hotel and we’re playing Sims,” Eric mentioned, standing behind Dele. “Exciting times we are living, us.”

“It’s 2018, Diet. We can’t let a moment pass us by.” He turned around and looked Eric in the eye. “Even if we sneak out of our hotel room in, like, the middle of the night, take a taxi 40 minutes away from Moscow to find a private video gaming society that allows us to, like, play whatever we want for two hours then so be it.”

“You forgot to mention that Gareth is going to kill us now that we have a third place position to fight for and we’re under more pressure than ever si—” A brown finger pressed to his lips, shutting him off.

“No World Cup talk, remember? We don’t talk about, like, losing to Croatia, broke England’s dreams, nor about how close we were to bringing it home. None of that tonight,” he ended with a whisper, a plea to Eric that for tonight, and only tonight, it would be just the both of them; two best friends who occasionally play Sims 4 randomly in the middle of the night.

“Okay,” he easily agreed and Dele’s finger fell from his lips. “Also, I told Harry where we are.”

“Why would you tell him?”

“In case we die?”

“You’re being so dramatic! We can take care of ourselves, Diet, without the need for a babysitter.”

“Harry Winks,” Eric clarified after Dele’s patronizing tone. Dele was not a fan of England’s national team captain, Harry Kane, for a number of reasons, one being he believed he was not a great leader. “It’s a safety precaution to warn us if Gareth is around since we aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Still don’t think you had to, like, tell someone where we were going,” Dele said, getting the last word in.

They were ushered down a stone-wall corridor by a lady who barely spoke three words in a thick Russian accent. There was the smell of old cobblestones as if they had been rained on, with low-watt bulbs that looked like they were going to turn off any minute.

Once she ushered them into a room with a green door, handed them the key, made a gesture with two fingers translating to their two hours allocated time, Dele shut the door and Eric, not a second later, turned the key.

“If we are going to die in here, we might as well give them a hard time,” Eric explained when Dele propped a quizzical eyebrow his way.

Dele rolled his eyes and surveyed the room silently. It was not much, more of something one would expect of an underground gaming room… yet less. There was a large screen projector with a gaming device underneath it and that was as flashy as this room got. There were no windows, no cupboards, the stone walls a bare rose color and the floors, too, apart from the couch that had definitely seen better days. To top it off, the lighting in the room was blue, a dark, very dark, blue that Dele was finding himself squinting a little to see anything in the room.

“Can you please use your phone to torch my way?” Eric asked. “I’m trying to find the bloody cable but its etched too far behind the screen.”

Dele did, his lock screen illuminating his face. It was of the both of them, a shirtless Eric taking a selfie with Dele hugging him tightly from behind, radiating pure joy after their win against Colombia. He stared at the photo, their eyes taunting him, hearing the cheers in his head of that moment when they won.

He felt Eric’s arms around him from the memory as he would constantly hug him, whispering in his ear each time that it’s coming home, Delboy, you fucking wait.

“Dele?”

Dele blinked and the memories faded away. He walked off to where he was and shed light for Eric to see. Fumbling with the cables, trying to remember the Wi-Fi password, Eric recovering the password to his Sims 4 account, and Dele gagging twice at the horrific couch later, they were ready to play. Dele bent to place both his hands on Eric’s thigh, spread them and sat in between his legs. He pushed his body back and was neatly folded against Eric’s warm chest.

“The couch is big enough for both of us.”

“I’m not catching, like, a Russian disease that probably kills me in the next 48 hours and you’ll have to explain to Gareth why you bailed at 3 AM to play video games.”

He felt the rumbles of laughter behind his back, his breath catching for just a moment. “If you want to cuddle all you have to do is ask.”

“Shut up,” Dele mumbled but that did not stop the heat rising along his neck.

The last time they played Sims 4 was before the World Cup. Their Sim characters were doing well, Sim Eric was working hard as a nurse and Sim Dele was, after much consideration, a painter. It was something he would never take in real life, nor in a Sims life but after Eric told him about some amazing fact of Van Gogh and yellow paint, he decided there and then. They went on several dates after their first ones, both Sim characters falling for each other if the random kisses and hugs occurred without their control and love icons appearing on top were any indication.

Eric liked watching their Sim characters fall in love, finding it oddly satisfying and played scenarios in his head if that were to happen in real life.

As a joke, of course.

Duh.

It was all new to Dele, watching their Sim characters as if they were a couple – which by now they definitely were. He would often watch from the corner of his eye to gauge Eric’s reactions when their Sims would do anything remotely not within the bromance boundaries and every time Eric would wear a neutral mask. The most he had seen on Eric’s face was a small smile after his Sim character came into the bathroom to kiss Sim Dele then returned downstairs to resume washing dishes.

His heart stopped jumping to his throat each time their Sims did romantic things with one another, it became the norm and, in a way, Dele wanted to see how far they could go as a couple.

Today was that day.

Currently, Sim Eric was in the backyard washing one of their dogs as Sim Dele was upstairs playing video games and Eric muttered, “Typical” underneath his breath.

“Let’s get married,” he suggested. He heard the sharp inhale from Eric sat behind him for a brief moment but said nothing. “I mean we’ve been on dates, we’re, like, flirty with each other, we own a house and two dogs and, like, a cat together—”

“—If you hadn’t lost my other cat we would’ve had two,” Eric interrupted.

Dele rolled his eyes, having heard this so many times before. “I’ll get you another if it’s something you, like, really want.”

“You can never replace Nancy,” said Eric, faux crying on Dele’s back. “It’s never going to be the same.”

“Anyway, we’re, like, sharing so much of our life we should get married.”

“Maybe I don’t like you enough to get married.”

Dele turned his head back to stare blankly at him. “You love me. You can’t deny that.”

“I hate you for losing Nancy at a theme park.”

“Please,” Dele hated that he sounded as if he was begging but he owed it to Sim Dele anyway to see this through and not because he was having issues with his bromance relationship with his best friend.

Duh.

“Wow me.”

“What?”

“Wow me… or propose, whatever happens during these things.”

Dele had a retort on his tongue but died as soon as it came. Eric’s gaze never left him, his baby blues gazing at him calmly, his face serene and so, so amazing. This man right here, his best friend, was everything to him and it was quickly dawning on him that he meant so, so much more to him. Whether it was the loss of the World Cup or that they were alone in a semi-dark room or because Eric’s hand on his back a reminder that everything was good he wanted to tell him, to say the truth.

“May the words I’m about to say be—I was never good with, like, words… much better with my hands, whether it was, like, fighting or showing people affection, I was bad at words.”

Eric nodded encouragingly.

“But I’ve got nothing to say that will, like, sound as good as they do in movies. Words won’t flow naturally because I’m shite at them and you, like, don’t deserve this, you deserve a proposal that has been thought through beforehand that has emotion and—and—”

“I don’t care about all that,” he told him in a whisper. “If it comes from the heart who cares if it isn’t like the movies, right?”

Dele’s hands were shaky, enough that he set his controller down and turned around so their faces were facing each other.

He bit his bottom lip, calming himself briefly. “I’ve had to grow a thick skin as the kid from MK. It was tough growing up, an alcoholic mother on one hand, and cheating father on the other, and none of them gave a shit until I was, like, making a name for myself. I was constantly being chased by the police, by the kids down the block and even while playing football and with all that you had to harden. You hardened through every experience that, like, nothing shakes you because you’ve, like, built this wall around me that keeps me in instead of keeping people out. 

“Gradually you’ve softened me, Diet. I feel my mask fall when I’m with you; my mask falls when I am around you because I don’t need to put it on when we’re together, like. I can finally put the mask I show the world down and, like, be myself with you. Like you showing me how to bake cupcakes, teaching me how to make the different ways of a scrambled egg, us taking tours of London like proper tourists or even as simple as Netflix and chilling or playing Sims.” They shared a laugh. “All these things that I would never, like, do with Brad or Aaron or Harry… or even Molly.”

Dele exhaled through his mouth and from beneath his eyelashes, he gazed to Eric, said in a soft voice, “I feel safe when I’m with you and I’d like to keep that for the rest of my life… if you’ll have me.”

So he dug, dug what he truly and honestly felt about Eric and it terrified him the more he spoke, the more truthful the words hit home and the longer Eric filled the odd room with silence.

“I… I….” Eric stammered. “I thought you were going to say something dumb like, ‘I’ll buy you a new cat if you marry me.’ But you didn’t.” Eric ducked his head, his hand drawing small circles on Dele’s back and fighting against the loud symphonies playing in his heart. They were loud, banging and so in tune, he could almost sing. “Yes.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yes.”

“Yes to.” Dele stopped, catching on to what Eric was saying. “I haven’t, like, proposed yet.”

“I thought you did but alright, go ahead.”

“So,” he giggled, his hands on Eric’s red cheeks, “will you marry me, Eric Jeremy Edgar Dier?”

“Yes, a million times yes.”

Dele squeaked on the spot, Eric’s laughter music to his ears. He honestly did not think he would say yes because this was just for the Sims, right? It did not feel like it was, Dele pouring his heart out but still, it settled the storm of uncertainty in his heart that whether Eric would marry him.

Eric hugged Dele closer, peppering kisses along his cheeks trailing down to his neck. They fell back onto the couch, Dele not putting too much effort to wriggle away from Eric’s lips on his neck, unable to stop the bubbles of chuckles and giggles deep in his throat.

“I meant what I said, too,” he told him once they had settled and he folded himself neatly to Eric’s chest on the rusty couch to continue playing their game.

“I know,” Eric whispered to Dele’s ear, his lips brushing the outer shell of his ear. “I’m happy you trust me enough not to have your mask on.”

Dele was thanking the heavens that Eric could not see him currently grinning like a happy Cheshire cat. “What do people do in, like, weddings?”

“… get married?”

Dele rolled his eyes. “I mean, like, what goes into wedding planning?”

Unfortunately, as they found out soon enough when booking the reception venue, that they were way, way under budget. They both agreed that they would put their wedding on hold, Eric buying engagement rings instead for both of them.

Sim Dele and Sim Eric were back at home, cuddling together under the gazebo in their empty jacuzzi (the Dier’s were very weird). However, Dele’s plan for today was to see how far they would go and he would not let something as small as not being able to get married deter his dreams. He had a Plan B.

“Are you up for an adventure, Diet?”

“Always,” Eric responded coolly. He commanded his Sim to tell a funny joke to Sim Dele. “What do you have in mind?”

 “Let’s fuck.” He did not mean for it to come out as blunt as it did and he immediately regretted how it came out. However, he made it much worse by attempting to correct himself.

“I meant, like, sex. Let’s sex—No. Let’s, like, have sex. Not have—but do. Do sex? No, like, that’s not… like, right. Let’s make sex—like, no. That, like, sounds even worse. Fuck! Let’s do it. Like sex. Let’s do sex things—”

Eric had his head thrown back, his laughter growing louder as Dele stuttered through his sentence. Dele was beyond mortified, his head turned towards the molding ceiling and wishing the ground would swallow him. At least Sim Dele was feeling happy around Sim Eric.

“Stop!” Dele begged when Eric would not stop laughing. Eric did not relent, laughing even harder and Dele got off him. Eric did stop laughing for a moment or two, seeing Dele pouting as he moved to sit beside him on the couch, still pouting when he turned to gaze at him. “Stop being mean to me.”

“How am I mean? You’re the one who was—”

“Stop!” Dele whined, drawing out the ‘O’. He ducked his head down, his fingers pulling at a thread on his ripped jeans. “I just wanted us to be, like, closer than before. Take us to the next level and shit.”

Eric cooed, leaning heavily onto Dele and kissing beneath his ear. “I like it, Delboy. And if you want to make love, then so be it.”

Dele snapped his fingers in the air. “Ah, that’s what I was looking for! Making love.”

Eric pulled his head from Dele’s shoulder and leaned real close to him, enough that Dele went crossed eyed when his eyes fell to his nose, to his lips, then trailed up to Eric’s baby blues. “Let’s make love.”

Dele bit down his bottom before he did something stupid like smiling too widely or worse, kiss Eric on the lips. Sim Dele was followed by Sim Eric back into the house, heading for their bedroom under the command of Woohoo. 

 “Can’t believe they call sex ‘woohoo,’” Dele laughed.

Sim Dele and Sim Eric stood on either side of their bed and changed into the PJs before they got into the bed. Eric and Dele both let go of their controllers, Eric sliding his body down the couch as he watched their Sim characters hide underneath their bed and began making love.

Dele’s eyes popped open, his lips letting out a nervous breathy giggle as the bedspread blew up, pink hearts and sparkles surrounding their Sim characters as they made love.

Turning to Eric, Dele asked, “Does this, like, really happen?”

Eric turned, too, his eyes glazing up at him. “It was odd at first but it’s pretty cool. Also, you should note I’m great in bed if fireworks are anything to go by.”

Dele huffed, turning to briefly look at the screen then back at him. “If anything, it’s all me. You’re welcome. Probably never had someone as good as me your whole life.”

Eric rolled his eyes fondly. “Never had small dick before.”

“Fuck off, Diet!”

Eric laughed joyfully, leaning his forehead forward to press to Dele’s arm and his hand curving around Dele’s hips. He pulled his head back, the last bits of his laughter dying off to find Dele gazing down at him with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sure you’re great in bed, sparks and all,” Eric told him. His hand was on Dele, pressed to the small of his back and leaned closer to the younger boy. “Ruby’s loss.”

“If your Sim is anything to go by, you’re not so bad yourself,” Dele said sounding bold. However, on the inside, he was barely keeping it together. His mind was on overdrive as his entire body zeroed in on the heat from Eric’s hand on his back, his palms sweaty as they moved up the arm Eric had over him and hang just over his shoulder. 

“It’s not weird, right?” Eric asked.

“That we’re woohoo-ing?” Dele barely spoke the words, the air thick with his heart beating fast and Eric, Eric, Eric. Dele’s fingers came to rest on his long neck, pressing enough that he was unconsciously pulling Eric’s upwards to him.

Eric nodded. Dele licked his lips and Eric’s eyes followed the movement intently.

“Nah.”

Dele closed his eyes then, the tender gaze of Eric too much for him. He felt his entire body running with electricity, his skin sparking and he swore he would bust in flames when Eric pressed his lips to his. He never thought kissing another man would be scary, or kissing a man, really. It was a foreign feeling, Eric’s mouth on his, an intoxicating feeling that had him whining for more.

Eric’s hands were on Dele’s hips, easily lifting him off the couch to sit on his lap and glided their lips together. He slips his fingers beneath the hem of Dele’s white Balenciaga shirt, dragging his hands up Dele’s back and Dele whimpered as their kisses were faster and stronger.

He cupped Eric’s head into his hands as he traced Eric’s bottom lip with his tongue, the other man easily granting him access. He licked into his mouth, Eric’s tongue wet and hot to his and pressed his chest to his, hot and panting into his mouth. Their lips slid with each other, Dele tasting Eric on his tongue, on his lips, chasing after the taste, over and over again.

It was Dele who broke their kiss, breathing heavily with his forehead pressed to Eric’s. He palmed the back of Eric’s head, his hands coming to rest on the column of his neck as he regained composure.

Eric pushed forward, pecking his lips two, three times before Dele was pulling away. 

“If we’re going to kiss again, like, can we not do it here? I am this close to vomiting because of this couch giving me bad vibes.”

“Let’s leave?”

Dele turned his head towards the screen. Their Sim characters seemed to have finished having sex and were laughing together on the bed, each of their feelings at the moment a range between flirty and happy. Dele turned back to Eric, thumbing on his red bottom lip and gently tugged down.

“I think we’re good for now. We can, like, pick up later on.”

 

As soon as Dele locked the door to their hotel room in Moscow, Eric grabbed him by his hips, pushing him against the door and kissing him passionately. Their hands were all over each other, Eric’s dragging his palms underneath Dele’s shirt while the brown man’s found his wrapped around his neck. He loved kissing Eric, loved the taste of him on his tongue, his hands all over his body leaving hot trails in his wake.

“You’re so gorgeous, Del!” Eric moaned into his mouth and Dele swallowed his words. Eric’s hands were under his thighs, prompting Dele to jump and wrap his legs around Eric and carried him inside their hotel room.

His back hit the bed, bouncing a little, and Eric crawled above him. Underneath here, right now, he felt incredibly safe. He could not put his finger on it, with Eric gazing with soft eyes at him, but he knew in his heart that he was it. It may have been triggered by them playing Sims 4 but it started way before.

“I, like, want this with you,” he said as Eric’s nose brushed with his.

“Like Sim life?”

Dele nodded. “Do you?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, us being what our Sims are.”

“As a couple?”

Eric smirked. “I was scared of what you would say so I hid my feelings behind our Sim characters. We would go on dates together, decorate our house together, share a name, co-own five dogs and two cats together, start our restaurant business together, clean, cut the grass, everything we would do together and all I wanted was for us to do the exact same thing.”

“Me too, Diet, like.” Dele cupped his cheeks. “I want all those things with you. Like what couples do…” he let his sentence peter out, his heart jumping to his throat.

“Bamidele Jermaine Alli, are you asking me to be yours?”

Dele bit down on his bottom lip, his eye sparkling blissfully up at Eric. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Ask me then.”

“I already proposed to you earlier, it’s your turn.”

“Dele!” he whined.

Dele rolled his eyes not unkindly. He wet his lips before asking, “Eric Jeremy Edgar Diet—”

“—Dier—”

“—will you be mine just like in our Sims life but, like, in real life?”

“Thought you’d never ask. Yes, yes I would—if you buy my cat on Sims.”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Dele promised. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.”

He closed his eyes and he pulled Eric down for a long, long kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIMS 4 is honestly one of them games you can play for hours and there's this online challenge by kelsey called 100 Baby Challenge [highly recommend y'all see it] and i got the idea for this story there [=
> 
> your feedback, the good, the bad and the ugly is HIGHLY HIHGLY HIIIIGHLY appreacited (plz) or if you just wanna say hi, that's awesome too [;
> 
> tchao x


	6. Look at the stars, look how they shine for you at all the things you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria said Eric had the bluest eyes... but Dele thinks he has the prettiest eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {:

 

“Fuck space!” Eric shouted at the bathroom mirror. “You swore you’d change but that lasted for a day. You’re a liar—no, that doesn’t sound right. I should be more vocal, less shouty shouty.”

Eric took one large inhale before he spoke calmly to the mirror this time. “You wanted space when we hadn’t seen each other for a month. No, that sounds dumb. C’mon Eric,” he chastised himself, “get yourself up.” He cleared his throat and started one more time. “You said you loved my eyes, said I had the bluest eyes of them all. Jonathan,” he spat the name, “has green eyes and suddenly you loved green. I thought your favorite color was blue.”

He stared at himself in the mirror before pressing his lips to a thin line. He looked at his blue eyes, leaning forward to look properly into them, seeing the lines connecting to his pupil and the growing hate for his eyes grew with a fiery green.

Maybe if he had green eyes Maria would not have broken up with him.

It had been two months since his break up with Maria and he was not over her, that much was obvious. She had gotten a job offer to Australia for Google and that would have been the second time they were going to have been in a long-distance relationship. They had done it before, so there was no issue, right?

Eric thought so, anyway.

It was before she had left for Perth that Maria introduced Jonathan to Eric as her colleague from work, _gay Jonathan_ as he was famously known in the HR department at Google. They naturally clicked like a house on fire, what with him being an Eagles fan, Eric as well, and even made plans to watch the game that was playing live that coming Sunday. It was a date.

Suddenly it was Jonathan this, Jonathan that, oh Jonathan, ah Jonathan, _Than Than Than_ as he was normally called after an inside joke between him and his Maria. He did not pay heed to it, after all, he was just Than and very, very gay. So when Maria and Jonathan were heading to Ibiza together for the weekend he bid them well at the airport and headed for training that afternoon.

His sisters had asked if he was okay with his girlfriend heading with another man to Ibiza for an impromptu holiday and he told them that he was, it was a friend’s holiday. (And hello, Jonathan was gay!). There were photos of her in tight bikinis, Jonathan occasionally in the photos with an arm around her small waist or her arms around his sculpted chest but he simply liked them and closed his Instagram app.

He did not open his app for another four days until Dele prompted him to.

 **DELBOY** : than and maria are on holiday in porto???

 **YOU:** No. They’re in Spain. And his name is JONAthan not THAN!

DELBOY: jonathan posted a photo with the location in porto -  which is in portugal!!

 **YOU:** When was this photo taken?

 **DELBOY:** IG says 5 hours ago

Alright, so perhaps he had been off the grid on social media, enough that it caught his best friend’s attention. The very man who simply went on Instagram to look at what people were saying about _him_.

 **YOU:** It’s just a couple of photos… why is everyone so pressed about them on holiday?

 **DELBOY:** have you seen the one where someone has taken a boomerang of them walking down the beach with the sunset?

 **YOU:** They’re just friends!! Why is everyone insisting that they’re NOT?!

 **DELBOY:** because they’re full-on flirting in that photo

 **YOU:** No he’s not. Besides, Jonathan is gay.

 **DELBOY:** no

 **YOU:** Yes.

 **DELBOY:** no he isn’t coz jonathan is straight

 **YOU:** He is 100% gay, Dele. He loves manicures and bubble baths and eyeliner and his favorite singer is Frank Ocean

 **DELBOY:** are you serious right now?!?

 **DELBOY:** i love frank ocean but do you see me kissing men right, left and center???!

 **YOU:** You used to date Ruby.

 

It was a while before Dele replied to him on WhatsApp, Eric had re-opened his Instagram app and scrolled down Jonathan’s Instagram feed. To his slow realization, he was starting to entertain the idea that perhaps Jonathan was not gay just because he loved Frank Ocean and eyeliner. Perhaps straight men were into eyeliner just like women.

 

 **DELBOY:** you know I would never lie to you, right? like you’re my best friend and i’ll always look out for you and always want the best for you…

 **YOU:** Of course. Likewise.

 **DELBOY:** so when i tell you to watch out for jonathan i mean it! whatever gave you the idea that he is gay, remove it because he is as straight as they come

 **DELBOY:** i’m not saying maria is one to sway because she loves you, OBVIOUSLY, but jonathan can be quite charming

 **YOU:** Do you think he is going to try something with her in Portugal?

 **DELBOY:** idk but keep eyes open.

 **DELBOY:** your*

 **YOU:** She’s just texted me that she is staying longer in Porto but doesn’t know for how long..

 **YOU:** It means nothing, right?

 **DELBOY:** lets keep our fingers crossed, diet. hope for the best. maria loves you no matter what!!

He took his best friend’s advice and did everything he could. He wished her good morning and goodnight daily, asked about her day, called her at least once a day, if not more, kept in touch with her but she was either busy, traveling to the beach or sightseeing and could not come to the phone. His messages were either Seen or left on blue ticks. He was starting to realize that she was slowly fading away from his hold.

So, he texted the one person who would understand him and not judge him.

 **YOU:** Can I call you?

 **YOU:** *Text

It was roughly ten minutes later when his best mate replied.

 **DELBOY:** yes. you can call me if you want

 **DELBOY:** what’s up, diet?

 **YOU:** It’s a matter of time before Maria breaks us up. I don’t know what it is but I can feel it.

 **DELBOY:** what are you doing right now??

 **YOU:** Unliking all the Instagram photos of her trip to Portugal and Spain. Also done the same with Jonathan and I’ve unfollowed him.

 **YOU:** She hasn’t replied to my message yesterday.

 **YOU:** She last texted me she was going to get ice-cream with him and his other 2 friends. Said she would call in the evening. 

 **DELBOY:** did you call?

 **YOU:** I left three missed video calls.

He was at a low point now, his throat closing and opening on its own with his mind running a thousand miles per minute. Right now he wanted someone to hold him, smooth his buzz cut and tell him that Maria was simply on a friend’s holiday, that she would not be going anywhere because he had the bluest eyes and it was only a matter of time before she was in his big arms.

 **YOU:** Killing Eve is on tonight.

Eric bit down on his pink lip as he watched his message send, one tick appearing automatically. The tick turned to blue ticks in mere seconds and the notification below his name changed to _typing..._. He prayed that Dele would read between the lines, somehow realize that Eric was too much of a baby to simply ask if he could come over and they could cuddle tonight.

 **DELBOY:** vanilla ice-cream cause we’re boring af?

Eric smiled at his phone, his heart increasing its rate as he re-read Dele’s sentence several times. Dele surprised him at times, being able to read him like tea leaves in the most unexpected of times such as now.

 **YOU:** See you soon Delboy (=

 **DELBOY:** safe diet (:

That night, Eric was cuddling with Dele on the sofa, their tub of ice-cream now melted to a liquid, _Killing Eve_ having ended an hour ago and were watching re-runs of _Gogglebox_. Eric was holding tightly around Dele’s shoulders an attempt to prevent his hands from reaching out for his phone in case Maria replied.

“I have the bluest of eyes, you know,” said Eric, his voice partially muffled in Dele’s neck.

“Hmm?”

“Maria said I have the bluest of eyes and it was her favorite color,” he told him. “Jonathan has green eyes.”

“You have the prettiest eyes,” said Dele and that was that.

The end came faster than he would have liked.

Maria said she would cook for him his favorite tonight – Spaghetti Bolognese, and he should come with wine tonight at 8 o’clock. The food was delicious, marvelous actually, until the point where Maria told her that it was Jonathan’s secret recipe that he showed her when they were in Porto.

(He was struggling to not let Maria taint his lovely memories of Portugal but it was proving difficult day by day).

Stabbing her fork into her juicy meatball, she mentioned something about the distance between them growing, about them not communicating anymore and needing space. He pointed out that she gave him space by ghosting her throughout her trip to Portugal with a straight man who was totally into her. She did not deny it. In fact, it was the reason for their break up. She got a job offer to work in Australia and she was moving there… tagging Jonathan.

(For a split second Eric wanted to say he could come with her before remembering he was a footballer player and his work was here, in England.)

She explained that with Jonathan it was new, it was exciting, he made sacrifices for her whereas with him it was always her carrying the burden for their relationship. Eric swore he would change, he would be a better man but she wanted Jonathan.

“He doesn’t have blue eyes,” Eric said adamantly. “I have the bluest eyes.”

“What does that matter?” she asked. He could hear her Portuguese accent coming off and he could taste the bile in his mouth over his distaste with the accent itself. She gulped down the remaining glass or red. “It’s just eyes.”

“You said your favorite color was blue and I had the bluest eyes.”

Maria sighed. “I like green now.”

As soon as Maria left with a sullen goodbye, he threw the leftover spaghetti – along with the cooking pot – into the bin, called Dele, who came over in less than half an hour. He was armed with the Batman trilogy and ice-cream – along with an entire bottle of vodka.

It was going to be that sort of night.

This was two months ago and he still did not understand how Maria could pick Jonathan, Green-eyed Jonathan when he was Eric, Blue-eyed Eric. Each time Dele would reiterate what Maria said which was that she simply did not like the color blue anymore and it was what it was. Also, Dele constantly reminded him he had the prettiest of eyes –regardless if they were the bluest of them all or not.

“I thought your favorite color was blue,” Eric repeated to himself in the mirror. He had been saying the same line over and over again. He was perfecting the perfect closure paragraph to say to Maria over the phone but it was never good enough, it never hit the right mark. Yes, it was two months later but healing took whatever amount of time one needed.

(Also, he was sick and tired of seeing photos of Maria and Jonathan all over his timeline of their splendid time in Sydney.)

Dele had unfollowed Maria from Eric’s Instagram account, stating it would help him get over her but he had followed her right back the moment Dele had left his house that evening.  He had to wait before she accepted his request as she was on private. In the meantime, he had gone out with his Eddie and friends, their version of going out and drinking away the night to forget about Maria. It never did end well, the first few weeks after their break up as he would drunk call Maria, begging for her back, promising to quit football, get on the next plane to be with her forever.

Maria stopped answering his drunken calls after the first few dozen times.

Dele attempted to help him too, every other weekend dragging him to exclusive clubs where the whos-who of society attended, famous people that honestly Eric could not remember the following day. They would always be in a private booth, their squad mainly consisting of Dele’s friends and his ex-girlfriend, Ruby. He drank more than the others, for sure, four, five cocktails he was beyond tipsy and was swaying around their private booth.

“Where’s my phone?” he said, his speech slurring. He was laying flat on the ground, his hands digging into his pockets looking for his phone. “I need to call Maria and tell her I can wear contacts.”

“What?” Aaron asked him. Of all of Dele’s friends, Eric got along best with Aaron Greene. He was nice, funny and did not take himself seriously and he had the same eyes as him. “What do you mean by wearing contacts?”

“Eye contacts!” he shrieked, wriggling on the floor as he struggled to find his phone inside his jeans. “I can wear eye contacts.”

“What for?” asked Aaron. He was now knelt by Eric’s head and attempted to pull him up to a sitting position. “C’mon, sit up.”

“I’ll get green eye contacts and then I’ll have the same eyes as Jonathan.”

“Who’s Jonathan?”

“Some fucking asshole who stole my missus,” Eric said, his voice wavering at the end at the tugging of his heart when it hit him – for the billionth time – that Maria was not his missus, that Maria was not his. “Where’s my phone!?”

“Dele told us to not let you have your phone,” Aaron said, looking slightly guilty.

“Aaron!” Eric sounded scandalized. “You’re my favorite out of everyone and you do this to me?”

“It’s for your own good, mate. Maria was no good for you and it’s her loss that she broke up with you.”

Eric looked at Aaron for a minute, the other man thinking Eric would take his word and stop thinking about Maria. How wrong he was. Eric called for Dele, shouting at the top of his voice for his best friend. Aaron made awkward eye contact with his friends around the private area; Harry was shaking his head, Kyrian was shrugging their shoulders, Kyle was looking anywhere but at Eric sat on the floor and Ruby taking shots with Brad.

“He went to order more jelly shots for us,” Ruby said after many times of Eric calling out his name.

Eric turned his head to her and was suddenly hit by the pair of eyes all looking back at him. They turned away, each looking at a spot in the room, just anywhere apart from poor Eric sitting on the floor, tipsy and moaning about his girlfriend who ran off to Australia with her colleague who was not gay.

(And had green eyes.)

He felt shame wash over him, then a thundering wave of embarrassment hit him, too. He felt like he did not belong, felt like an outsider looking around the smoky red room, the hard beats of Post Malone spilling through the dark walls and he wanted nothing more than to go home. He pictured himself in his purple bathrobe, snuggled before his home cinema, cuddling one of his dogs, Clay laid comfortably at the end of the couch by his feet watching re-runs of _The Greatest Showman_.

He may never get over his ex-girlfriend, or he may, but, however that was to happen, for sure it was not right here, drunk on the floor trying to forget her with people he barely spoke to.

He got off the floor, stumbling slightly, his hand reaching for the wall immediately.

“Are you okay? Come sit down,” Aaron said, his hands on Eric’s shoulders.

Eric shook his head, patting his jean pockets to make sure he had money for a taxi. “I’m heading home now. Tell Dele to bring my phone tomorrow, okay?”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not feeling too,” a hiccup punctuated his sentence – “good right now.”

Aaron nodded. “Let me get you into a cab, at least.”

Eric agreed. He bid everyone goodbye, Ruby shoving a shot glass in his hand – _one for the road_ –  and was led by Aaron outside. He hugged him goodbye and sighed happily when he back of his head his the cold cab seat and he could shut his eyes for a moment.

He opened his Macbook as soon as he arrived home, logging in and ordering for a pair of green contacts. Fifty pairs of contacts, to be specific. He paid for fast shipping which would enable them to arrive tomorrow.

He was deep in slumber when he felt the bed deep beside him. He reached for the switch above his head to find Dele settling into the other side of his bed.

“Hey.”

Dele was smiling softly at him, his brown eyes generous and full and sparkling and safe. He never noticed how calm Dele always was, how big his heart was and he could be anywhere in the world but he chose to be beside him on the bed.

“Hey,” Eric said, his muddled brain catching up with _Dele in his bed_ _at_ –. “What time is it?”

“Like four in the morning.”

“What happened to the party? It was meant to end at six, no?”

“I got bored,” he said nonchalantly. “And also I have your phone.” He pointed off his shoulder with his thumb. “It’s charging.”

Eric’s heart melted into a glob of goo. He knew that was simply an excuse for Dele to check up on him, to cuddle with him because Eric slept much better when he was being a small spoon (by Dele to be specific now that Maria was out of the picture).

“Your eyes are so brown,” Eric’s still drunken mind blurted. “Do you know how beautiful your eyes are? They’re like a cool, brown. A poopish-brown color. So, so pretty.”

Dele laughed. “How many cocktails did you have?”

“Harry kept passing me cocktails.”

Dele rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m going to kill him. I told him to, like, give you one when I was away.”

“My favorite was the one that had blueberries in it that slowly had my cocktail turn a light blue.”

“I thought you might like it.”

Eric cooed. “You made that for me?”

“I _asked_ for it. I thought you might like the blue. Matches with your eyes,” Dele added.

Eric smiled at him. “Do you like my eyes?”

“Of course. You have the prettiest eyes.”

Eric preened on the spot, his heart-melting once more at the comment. He giggled, burying half his face into the pillow attempting to hide the blush spreading high on his cheeks. He felt Dele laughing, too, his laughter not too loud and calmly ending when he kissed his hair, the spot behind his ear.

“Let’s go to sleep. Did you drink milk?”

Eric nodded. Eric’s cure for hangovers was milk, odd as it was. Most people would swear by painkillers, bananas, coffee, sleep, or even more alcohol but for Eric, milk did the trick. Dele lifted the covers and dropped them once he had pressed his chest to Eric’s back. He pressed his lips to the spot below Eric’s neck, tangling their legs beneath the covers.

“Are you okay, Diet?”

Eric took the hand Dele had thrown over his hip and pulled it to his lips and kissed his knuckles. He kissed his knuckles one more time when he felt Dele’s smile growing where it was pressed to his shoulder.

“I am now, Del.”

Eric let their hands lay beside his chest as they both fell asleep.

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

“Fun night?”

Eric popped one eye open, to find a dark-haired lady with a thick choker giggling at him.

“You could say that.” He was wiping the rest of the vodka and cranberry from his face after the girl he was chatting up threw her drink at his face. “I honestly don’t know what happened.”

“Maybe don’t be an ass,” Choker-Lady said. She looked at him for a second before she turned and asked the bartender for seventeen Jagerbombs.

“Are you having a fun night?” he asked, out of politeness.

“No one has thrown their drink at me yet, so I’d say yes.”

Her tray of seventeen shots came within a minute and she was paying for her drinks. As she was counting the notes from her wallet, Eric contemplated chatting her up because this was Dele’s idea, yet again. He should honestly have not let Dele persuade him to come out again, stuck in what was meant to be the event of the year in this exclusive club that Dele swore was only for the London elite.

(Also, Dele heard that Alex Santorini was making an appearance. Whoever that was, honestly.)

He had been at home, donned in his warmest PJs, re-watching _Dirty Dancing_ for the five hundred and twenty-second time, Clay and Cisco laid by his feet on the end of the couch as he ate his way through leftover black forest Eddie left at his house.

(He was going to burn himself silly at the gym tomorrow.) 

Apparently, that was no way to spend a Saturday night – not after their win against Arsenal today – and Dele was having none of it. He had brought his back up – consisting of his friends and of course, Aaron. It was like Dele knew he was going to say no to him, definitely but when Aaron was in the mix, he agreed. Except for today he really did not want to leave the house, absolutely was not feeling his best.

(Perhaps the seven unanswered video calls to Maria had something to do with it.)

“You’re not allowed to celebrate today’s win with leftover cake,” Dele said to him, squatting down to his eye level. “You need to go big.”

“I want to watch _Dirty Dancing_ in peace.”

“No, because you know what happens when you do,” he said and Eric rolled his eyes. “You end up picking your phone, like, every time, texting _your ex-girlfriend_ that you two could’ve been Baby and Johnny regardless of their eye color. You’ll wake up the next day, like, regretting and sending more messages to apologize for disturbing her.”

Eric resolutely stared at the shiny chains hanging off Dele’s neck, choosing to neither correct nor comment on his statement. Dele softly sighed. He leaned forward on the couch, enough that he turned his head slightly and laid it sideways just like Eric’s was.

In his softest voice, Dele said, “It’s been, like, seven months, Diet, and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been saying that and it’s clear as day you’re not.” Dele bit down on his bottom lip, the fingers in Eric’s unshaven beard a nice distraction sensation like those ASMR videos he secretly watched on days when he had big football matches.

Dele noticed his immediate calm as he asked, “Do you like it when I do this?”

Eric smiled with his eyes closed. “Very. It’s relaxing.”

Dele did not stop even as he tried to convince Eric to leave the house with him and the boys. “Santorini is rumored to be going to Turquoise tonight – this exclusive, glitzy club in West London – and he’s like super exotic and if you’re friends with him, he can get you in anywhere in the business world.”

“Who exactly is this Alex Sanchos?”

“Santorini,” Dele corrected. “He is this suave businessman who, like, makes billion-pound deals left, right and center. He gets rich from owning companies by buying shares, doing collaborations with fashion houses, cars, jewelry king and queens… the lot.”

“Sounds like a cool dude.”

“Of course he is. His father is Alanda Santorini who basically owns Greece,” Dele said and Eric rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Well, obviously not but you get it. They’re in town for a couple of days and if I get to meet Alanda’s son, like, imagine how cool I’d get. I could skyrocket my company and shit. Make it international, Diet!”

“And… why is me coming out tonight have anything to do with you trying to talk to your man crush?”

Dele’s thumb pressed down on Eric’s earlobe, his eyes unfocused for a second or two. “I don’t want you to stay alone tonight. You’re going to text her again.”

“Too late,” Eric scoffed.

“I will, like, keep telling you that you have the prettiest eyes of them all until you believe me,” Dele said, his thumb smoothening the hairs on his jawline. “Your baby blues do not stop being blue just because someone decided blue was not their favorite color. Remember when we went to that art gallery? In South London?”

“The one you complained was so boring and you basically drank all the free wine?”

Dele laughed at the memory, crinkles forming on the edge of his eyes. “That one. But we saw a painting that had the sun on it and the description said this is the sun but, like, it was crossed out and I didn’t get it and you, like, explained it.”

“I explained to you that the sun will always be the sun regardless of who or what labels it the sun. The sun knows its worth is not defined by others, not even the moon.”

“Exactly,” Dele said and he sounded so, so proud in the moment, looked him with so much passion and fire his own eyes that burned with a roaring brown. “You are blue. You’re fucking blue and if someone decides they don’t like you, you don’t try to be other colors like green or purple or grey. You remain blue and if I have to keep reminding you that then I will.”

He then pushed himself forward, closing the space between them that Eric had to look crossed eyed to see Dele’s eyes.

“Like the sun, no one defines your worth based on your eye color.”

He then kissed him on his cheek, on the corner of his lips. Eric’s heart was thundering, his mouth slightly agape and his hands seeking purchase he held grabbed onto Dele’s white Balenciaga T-shirt. He felt himself furiously blushing, from his cheeks to the tips of his eyes he swore Dele could taste the heat of his skin.

That was all it took really and next thing he knew he was in the shower, Dele in his bedroom picking out his outfit for tonight. Whether it was the kiss, or the complement or simply bathing in the knowledge that Dele was not Maria and could care less whatever color his eyes were, he decided to follow his best friend to this club and help him seal his friendship stamp with the Alex Santorini.

(He still did not who he was, not bothering to Google in the Royce on their way to the club.)

Eric blinked back to reality, to the club where he was right now, with a small glass of brown liquid staring at him in the face held by two fingers. He took the glass away from his face to find Choker-Lady holding her own.

“What’s this?”

“For a good night, you look like you need it,” she explained.

“Cheers!”

They clinked their glasses and she was gone. He had been sat at the bar for far too long that the barman would refill his glass of gin + tonic without him asking for it. He was probably on his fourth, fifth glass and either he had a high tolerance or the barman was feeding him water because he was not drunk.

Nowhere near it, in fact.

He had left Dele on the dancefloor with his brother about an hour ago, shouting above the music that he was going for a drink. Inside the Royce, the plan was to scatter to look for Alex Santorini and well, the rest Dele would handle. So far, Eric had not found who this person was, did not even know who this person was. So in the process, he Googled Alex Santorini, his search showing interest results of his net worth, a staggering number this brain was swimming at the thought of owning that much money. As he was Googling, one website stated that Alex was a fan of Vincent Van Gogh, the incredible 19th Century painter.

Eric accepted his next gin + tonic as he moved from Google to Pinterest to admire more of Van Gogh’s work, one thing leading to another and he discovered there was going to be an art exhibit exclusively for Van Gogh’s work this weekend. He sent the link to Dele - along with the message _Already bought us tickets. WE ARE GOING! You owe me for dragging me out of the house today_.

“I don’t mean to pry but are you a fan of Van Gogh?”

Eric snapped his head to the left so fast, his phone slipped out of his hand and onto a pair of small, dainty hands.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” a soft, angelic voice apologized. He accepted his phone as his eyes landed on the person behind the voice. She was dark-haired, sported a fire engine red lipstick but it was her eyes, her vibrant blue eyes drawing him in like a magnet with each passing second.

“You’ve got an amazing voice,” he blurted out. “I mean, I didn’t mean it in a stalker way… just… your voice is… nice.”

(Someone punch him in the face, please, it would be less embarrassing.)

The lady laughed, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you. May I…”

“Yes, yes of course,” Eric said, gesturing to the empty barstool next to him. “I’m Eric, what’s your name?”

“Alexa,” she introduced herself. She crossed her leg over her knee, the split on her trouser falling on either side of her left thigh. “So… are you?”

“Am I…?” Eric dragged his eyes from her naked thigh to her face and the conversation came back to him. Santorini. Tickets. Van Gogh. “Right. Yes, uh, yes, I am a fan of Vincent Van Gogh, are you?”

She nodded enthusiastically. They talked about the post-Impressionist painter, talking of his different works ranging from Road with Cypresses, portraits of persons such as Madame Ginoux (Alexa’s favorites) and Dr. Paul Gachet and of course, his most famous and known work Starry Night. They ordered glasses of wine as they talked more about Starry Night, its representation of finding the beauty within, of loving people wholeheartedly, of drinking yellow paint simply to find happiness and of coincidences of finding someone who was in love with Van Gogh as they were.

“… so that’s why I admire Van Gogh. He’ll always have a special place in my heart.”

“But why take your best friend to art galleries when he doesn’t appreciate the art?” Alexa wondered. 

Eric had explained to her that it was always Dele he took to art galleries, he was the first one he bought tickets with when there was an opening. He always came, which up until this point he had never thought twice about it. Sure, he could have taken Maria but she was never interested in art, yet Dele was the same – not caring much for art but he was interested, that much was sure.

“I… actually don’t know but he always comes with me,” Eric confessed. “I mean, I do have friends to go with, who would appreciate the art and we can have discussions of what it is about – a bit of change from me explaining what the painting is and _who_ Claude Monet is” – they both laugh – “but there is no one else I’d rather take than Dele. Even if he sometimes confuses Monet with Shakespeare, I’d still pick him.”

“You’re taking him to this weekend’s gallery, aren’t you?”

Eric nodded. “He owes me anyway for dragging me out of the house today.”

She cocked her head to one side questioningly.

“I wanted to spend the night watching _Dirty Dancing_!”

“That’s my favorite movie!”

Eric gasped. “Really?” Alexa nodded enthusiastically. “I keep telling Dele that it’s a classic movie but he rolls his eyes every time.”

“Maybe he doesn’t understand.”

It was the way she spoke, the way the words seemed to roll over her tongue, how she flicked her hair over her shoulder when he complimented her on her hair and blinked slowly at him as she sipped her red wine that he realized she had been flirting with him. 

She seemed to understand that it was only now he was connecting the dots. “You’re a very handsome man, Eric, and intelligent. You don’t come across many men who know what Starry Night is.”

He bit down on his lip, his eyes searching hers. “I came out of a two-year relationship and I’m still trying to wrap my mind that we are through so… I don’t want to… drag you into my mess. I’m really sorry, Alexa.”

“Just my luck, I guess,” she said, smiling back at him. She brought her wine glass to her mouth, and from beneath her eyelashes, she looked above the rim of her glass and said, “The man with the most beautiful blue eyes just like the Sea of Crete.”

“Sea of Crete?” he asked. “Where is that?”

“Off the coast of Greece,” she explained.

“I was there last year. We went to Mikonos, Dele and I. Later, we went to Santorini which is a much better island in my opinion.”

“I am from Santorini.”

“You’re Greek?” Eric asked and then his eyes slowly grew as wide as golf balls. Alex Santorini was in London on a business trip. Alex was rumored to be in Turquoise right now. Alex Santorini’s father owned many of the Greek islands, one of them including the posh Santorini island to the South by the Sea of Crete. Could this lady possibly be—“Is your father Alanda Santorini by any chance?”

“You know about me?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Dele knows you, not I. It’s the only reason he even came to this dumb club. Said he wanted to meet Alex but… that can’t be you because Alex is a man’s name…” he let his sentence peter off, trying to add two and two together. Alexa was smiling coyly at him for a moment or two before she pushed her empty wine glass to the side and uncrossed her leg.

“My full name is Alexandra Santorini. I often do not go by my full name because I hide my identity to ward off people who are only after one thing.”

Eric stared haplessly at Alexandra. He spun his head around, in a futile attempt to find Dele, to give a shout to him that he found _the_ Alexandra Santorini but the club was packed right now, bodies flowing everywhere and it would be impossible to find him right this second.

“I think I should be heading home.”

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said, jarred by her sudden need to leave. “I didn’t mean to...”

“No, it’s just. I meet lots of people who are only interested in knowing my father instead of me as a person. They only use me as if I am an empty body, sometimes I feel as empty as Van Gogh.”

“I didn’t mean to, I promise,” Eric jumped in, holding onto her arm before she walked away. “I had a great conversation with you, about gardens and roses and Starry Night, which was all genuine.  The rest is…” he paused, trying to find the right words. “Dele wants to take his clothing brand Leo Fortis to an international level and he feels Mr. Santorini will do that for him.”

“You seem like the good kind of people, Eric,” she said then hummed to herself. Eric simply nodded then belatedly realized he was still holding onto her. He let go of her arm and stepped back. She reached into her bag and took out her phone. She unlocked it then handed it to him. “Maybe I’ll call you to see if you’ll meet with me this weekend at the gallery.”

Eric frowned, his eyes darting between her phone and her face. “But I’m taking Dele.”

She offered him a small smile. “Maybe you’ll change your mind and go with me, then maybe your best friend can have the business deal of a lifetime that he needs.”

Eric’s eyes fell to her phone as he wondered what he was getting himself into. He quickly added his phone number, adding his country code beforehand, and she smiled at him when he was done.

“See you on Saturday, Alexandra.”

“See you on Saturday, Eric.”

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

It was a lovely sunny day, a rare occurrence in England, and Eric was doing his best to enjoy it. Harry Kane had organized a mini BBQ and called all of their teammates for a lovely afternoon out which, surprisingly they all attended.

(Granted they had a grueling training session today after their defeat to Bournemouth and Poch was particularly not ready to let that loss go. Not after it dropped them to 6th – after Arsenal.)

He made his way inside the house with his empty glass for more ice cubes. He opened the freezer and got out the bag of ice cubes, his hands enjoying the instant cool on his hands. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dele was standing behind the fridge door as soon as he shut it.

“You scared me!”

Dele sheepishly smiled. “Sorry, I was coming for ice too.”

Eric opened the fridge door once more, taking out another bag of ice and handing it to Dele. He took it without saying anything, turning around and pouring ice cubes into the blue jug he came in with. After the night out at the club, and Eric canceling their plans of going to this Saturday’s art gallery showing, things had been awkward between them.

Dele was upset that he was not taking Eric, that it was some bird he had met at the club who would be going. Some random girl that got first place rather than him. Eric had been surprised at his reaction because Dele was sure as hell not a fan of art, barely got the basics of it, and here he was utterly angry that he was casually being put second place.

 Eric had apologized then, saying he did not know how much it meant to Dele they went together (“You damn right should have known,” he had reprimanded him) but here he was, finally moving on from Maria with someone new who he had a bond with over his favorite painter (“I like Van Gogh, too. I got, like, his concept of the yellow paint, innit?” he had argued) and what better way to impress her than to take her to an art gallery dedicated entirely to Van Gogh.

“I said I was sorry, Del.”

“Whatever.”

“This is the first time I’m not thinking of Maria in months and—“

Dele turned around on the spot, cutting him off. “Who is this Ming girl anyway? What if she is using you for fame?”

So… Eric had not told Dele the whole truth. He lied about _who_ he had met, lied that he had met Ming and not the daughter of his man crush, Mr. Santorini. He did not know why he had done so but he felt like he should keep it a secret.

(For now, at least.)

“Let me have this,” Eric pleaded. “Just this.”

“Art is our thing. Sure, I don’t get half the stuff we see, or, like, understand why Picasso was even a thing people admired because I sure as hell don’t get what he draws but for some reason the entire world does.” He groaned in frustration. “Art is our thing. Between us and no one else and you gave that away to _Ming_.”

Eric looked like a kicked puppy dog at the moment. He reached forward but Dele took a step back, slightly shaking his head. “I’m really sorry, Del.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled under his breath. He turned to pick his jug of ice and motioned with his head towards the inside of the house. “Follow me.”

Eric did, up the stairs and stopped before one of the 16 rooms inside the Kane mansion.

Dele hesitated, looking worriedly at the door and the jug in his hand. “Please don’t hate me but I hope this will help.”

“What?”

“I’ve tried everything I can to help you with your break up. I’ve taken you out, taken down the photos of Maria, told you that you had the prettiest eyes regardless if they were blue or not, re-watched _Dirty Dancing_ more than is healthy, danced to Beyoncé so many times I know all the words to despite me trying.” Dele exhaled deeply. “But nothing is working and maybe the only thing left is to talk to Maria to get, like, closure. Or whatever.”

“What?” Eric gawked. “What have you done?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with her but she’s been MIA. I had to, like, get Jonathan to convince her to talk to me – which wasn’t easy because he’s a giant ass – and I asked her to talk to you.”

“Asked?” he questioned.

Dele simply winked at him but did not reply. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lo and behold Maria was inside, sat by the window pane, tapping away on her phone. He will not lie, his entire body ran cold at the sight of her. There was always something that never did sit right when one looked at their ex, about never healing from the break up when the other one was living happily without them.

“Here he is.”

“Thanks, Dele.”

Maria said, her voice light and joyful. Eric hated that she was happy and hated himself for that. Dele gave her a smile before looking to him, his brown eyes gazing to his baby blues. He squeezed his bicep once, whispering to him, “I’ll be outside,” and walking out the door.

“You look well,” he said to her once it was just the two of them in the room.

“I am. I’m in a better place,” she said, her voice still light and joyous. “I wish I could say the same about you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Dele.” She giggled. “Would you believe?”

“How did he get a hold of you?”  he wondered.

He left out the part the countless failed video calls, the unanswered phone calls, read-but-never-replied-to messages and the countless drunken – and lonely – voicemails left on her phone. He left that all out but Maura heard him loud and clear with the way she looked at him, her lips pursed and brows worried together.

“To put a long story short, he stalked down Than to talk to me who caved and asked me to go see you. I didn’t want to, obviously, it being awkward what with how we ended things. But Dele can be quite… persistent, he doesn’t know when to give up, does he? I agreed to come see you on condition that he bought us tickets to the final of the Champions League as well as flight tickets and accommodation.”

“He paid for your hotel?”

Maria smiled in response. “He included a beautiful couples spa session that was honestly the best I’ve ever had.”

Eric frowned some more. “Why? You hate football!”

“Than loves it and I couldn’t very well ask you for tickets,” Maria pointed out.

“I would—”

“Come off it,” Maria said. “You would not have when I would’ve told you it was a birthday gift for Than, the man who you know to have green eyes. A concept you seem to be obsessed with.”

He remembered his speech, the one he constantly practiced in front of the mirror whenever he got the chance to meet Maria face-to-face. He had practiced it so many times, Dele knew it word for word, hell, even his dogs – if they could talk – would recite it back to him at the drop of a hat. Dele had told him it never mattered, to move on from it but clearly, he could not.

So he told her, told her he was hurt that her favorite color changed from blue to green. That weeks after they broke up, he ordered over 50 green contact lenses and wore them every day just to see what it was that she saw, why she chose Jonathan over him.

(He did not mention the part where Dele threw out his new batch of contact lenses and Eric blew off his head for throwing them out when he was trying them out. Two days later, he hugged Dele tightly, kissing the spot behind his ear and apologizing for being a jerk.)

He had to learn that there was nothing wrong with not having green eyes, that blue was still a color. Just like Van Gogh had once said, there was no blue without yellow without orange. Each and every color was worth it regardless of whether it was someone’s favorite color.

He may not have the best blue eyes but someone out there said his eyes were the prettiest and did not care that they were blue (or covered by green contact lenses), they still loved his eyes.

(Maria cocked an eyebrow at him for the specificity of his statement. She neither commented on it nor how his cheeks were now a shade of pink and Eric was grateful that she did not ask _questions_.)

They hugged in the end, his nose in her strawberry blond hair, arms around her tiny waist as he bid her goodbye. She was escorted to her Uber, wishing him luck with Spurs heading off to the quarter-finals for the Champions League, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the car turned a sharp left and disappeared.

He found Dele playing video games down in Harry’s den with Tripps, Serge and Coco. He motioned with his head to come out, Dele showing him two fingers to wait for him as he blasted his way to the finish line, beating out the others to win Level 74.

Eric threaded their fingers together as he led them out of the basement to the upper floor. He made his way to the guest bathroom, their hands still tightly holding each other, locked the door and gently pushed Dele to lean against the sink. He pinned his body farther back, Dele’s hands pushing up Eric’s biceps, fingers curving on his broad shoulders, coming around on either end of Eric’s long neck.

“Hey.”

Eric smiled. “Hey, you.”

“Did she help?”

Eric bit his lip before answering, “She did— _It_ did. I don’t care too much about me not being her favorite color, not obsessed with the color green like I used to be.” He leaned forward and rested his head on Dele’s shoulder. He turned it so that his forehead was to tucked under Dele’s neck. “After all, someone did say I have the prettiest eyes.”

Dele hummed. “That someone is right.”

“I think that someone was right in telling me that like the sun, nobody defines the worth of my eyes. They’re blue and blue is a worthy color.”

“I’m happy for you, Diet.”

Eric lifted his head off his best friend’s shoulder and was struck by the sharp golden-brown of Dele’s eyes. Yes, he had made a promise not to be obsessed with eye color but he could not help but gaze at his.

“Why’d you get her the couples spa session?” he asked, curiously.

“More incentive to come, innit? Also, Maria said she would like it seeing as it was part of his birthday gift.”

“I think Champions League tickets are enough.”

Dele shrugged but did not say anything. His hands palmed his head as his eyes fell below his nose. He thumbed on the spot beside his nose as if rubbing off a piece of lint. It felt good to Eric, a small gesture like this, and he stood gazing at Dele as he finished thumbing the spot and offered him a smile when the raised his gaze to his.

“I’m really sorry about not taking you to see Van Gogh.”

“It’s okay, like. If Ming helps you with getting over Maria, then I’m all for it. We can go to another one together.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Diet. I’m just glad we don’t have to listen to _The Time of My Life_ one more time.”

Eric chuckled. “Shut up! You love that song.”

“Only because it’s been stuck in my head for a week now.”

“You downloaded the entire movie soundtrack.”

“You downloaded it from my laptop!”

“Uh-huh, sure, Delboy. Just admit you love the movie now.”

Dele wrapped his arms around Eric’s broad shoulders, pulling the older man closer that their warm chests lined up. It was just the two of them in this bathroom the noise from the BBQ barely audible through the four walls of the bathroom enveloping the two of them. Eric had Dele in his arms, his hands resting low on his hips. 

“I do,” Dele admitted then immediately warned him, “Don’t tell anybody or else I’ll kill you.”

The sounds of Eric’s joyous laughter in his ear sent him into light chuckles that warmed his heart. It had been a minute since he heard Eric laugh from his belly and he can confess, he missed the sound.

(Laughing Eric deserved to be a national treasure. He was prepared to defend his position.)

It was already the day of the opening for the art gallery and Eric was definitely not ready. Dele was over at his, stating that no best friend of his was going to dress shabbily to his first (proper) date after Maria and no, he was not going dressed in a black suit. It was a date, not a funeral, thank you very much.

“I happen to like my black suits,” Eric defended watching his discarded suit choice on the floor, joining the rejected pile of outfits on his bedroom floor.

“If I had known the horrid state of your closet we should’ve gone shopping earlier.”

Eric snorted. “And what? You taking me around buying silly necklaces that are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars?”

Dele showed him the finger without bothering to turn around. “Why is everything in your closet, like, two sizes bigger? Do you have nothing form-flattering?”

“I already told you that my jungle green suit fits me properly, along with the navy blue and the black and white one. I obviously am not wearing jeans –  I am not going to a shitty pre-party,” Eric added before Dele spoke. “I can’t be caught dead wearing ripped jeans with shite colored Balenciaga trainers.”

Dele narrowed his eyes at him. “I looked hot in that premiere, you’ve got to admit it.”

Eric mumbled under his breath, “Looked like a right bellend, mate.”

Dele let out a put-on sigh. “This is going horrid. How much time do we have left?”

Eric checked his phone. “She texted saying I pick her up at six which is two hours before the opening. Seems strange, innit?”

“Maybe Ming wants to get to know you a little bit more before the drama.”

“What drama?” A plain navy blue tie was thrown at his face and Eric held it at arm’s length. It matched the pants Dele had laid out on the bed for him.

“When she finds out you’re a brilliant football star and she can’t handle the fame.”

Eric’s eyes lit up. “You think I’m brilliant?”

“Before she realizes she can’t handle the fame,” Dele emphasized. He threw a polka dot shirt beside skinny jeans. “And voila! This is your outfit.”

“Jeans, tie, and a flowery shirt?” Dele took away the tie from the outfit laid out on the bed. Eric still looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t know when was the last time I wore skinny jeans, Del. I don’t I can fit through skinny jeans.”

“Yes, you can. It’s like a miracle you even _have_ skinnies in this damn closet of yours. Now go, change. I wanna see the results and to see if we, like, need to make some changes.”

He ended up changing his outfit nearly six times what with Dele never being satisfied with the shirt aspect of it. One was too polka dot-y, the other two over-flowered, the other too yellow, the outfit was chosen was a pair of black jeans (not skinnies, he wanted his balls to breath during the date, thank you) and a crisp clean blue shirt with tiny yellow stars across it.

“I didn’t even know I had this shirt,” Eric marveled at himself in the mirror.

“It’s like that painting you talked about by the man whose ear was cut off.”

“Van Gogh,” Eric supplied. “And yeah, it really is like the Starry Night. Do you think Ale—Ming will get the reference?”

Eric panicked that Dele caught his slip of the tongue but sighed in relief when Dele went about looking for a jacket to complete his look. He silently watched Dele pull a jacket slightly out of the rack, examine it with the tip of his tongue pressed to his upper lip, return the jacket and pick the next one on the rack.

(He was grateful to have him around, to have to call Dele his best friend, his best mate not just at Spurs but in life and was extremely grateful that he managed to convince Maria to fly down to London to speak to him.)

It was the reason he was even going on this date with Alexandra. He wanted to do this for Dele, to get Alexandra to buy into the idea of taking Dele’s clothing line to the next level with a million-pound deal with the Santorini man himself. This was next level and Dele would go mad if it ever happened and Eric wanted to make sure it did.

If that involved going to an art gallery with Alexandra then so be it, he was going to give it his all. He had already brushed up on his art knowledge, listening to podcasts for the past couple of days as well as other painters of Van Gogh’s time so that he would have a deep, intellectual conversation with her at the gallery. He was taking an art enthusiast to the gallery after all, not Dele who would not know the difference between Monet and Gauguin.

A funny thing happened when he was on his date with Alexandra Santorini: he could not stop thinking of Dele and how he barely knew the difference between Monet and Gauguin. Well, it began in the limo ride to the art gallery that was packed with London’s elite, including art snobs who could afford the entire gallery and enthusiast try-hards who marveled at the art but could barely afford any painting, let alone the free champagne.

He had previously said he brought Dele to an art showing sometime last year and after walking around the gallery, admiring the different paintings, Dele admitted he did not know who Van Gogh was – had even dared to ask _is Van one of your friends from Netherlands?_ Secondly, he a thought Matisse was in the ranks of Shakespeare. Shakespeare. Dele thought Henri Matisse had written a famous play like Romeo and Juliet.

(Someone resurrect Eric, please, because he died multiple times that evening!)

Thirdly, now that they were in an art gallery and had been going for these for the past couple of months, Dele knew that they were artists - not people Eric knew personally. He could forgive Dele for the last one, for someone who did not know much about art, all paintings looked alike and knowing who painted what did not make a difference.

“You’ve been staring at this painting for a long time,” Alexandra noted, her voice ringing through his thoughts. “Are you thinking of buying it?”

It was the famous painting of Madame Ginoux and all he could think of was Dele standing by his side, spitting out ridiculous comments like, ‘If she was alive right now, do you think she would dab?’

He snorted to himself, a smile spreading on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Thinking of the ridiculous things that Del would say if he were here about this painting.”

“Are any of them related to art?”

Eric shook his head. “The closest art comment he’d make is Van Gogh knew how to draw eyes neatly.”

Alexandra raised her brows his surprise, stared for a second or two hoping Eric was joking. He was not, unfortunately, and she shook her head. She looked one more time at Madame Ginoux and sighed softly.

“It’s beautiful, no?”

“Stunning,” she said, looking longingly at the painting.

“Sadly, someone’s bought the painting.”

“Why sadly?”

“Because you said it was your favorite and now you can’t take it home.”

“I bought it, actually. Well, my father bought it for my birthday. It’s today.”

“What?” gasped Eric, then raised his glass of champagne. “Happy Birthday, Alexandra.”

She giggled, crinkles forming at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.” Then she sighed for a second time. “He also bought me the Starry Night painting.”

“That’s brilliant!” cheered Eric. He was overjoyed at this moment, to be able to own the original painting by the great Van Gogh was beyond unimaginable. And now Alexandra owned two! Two fantastic paintings in this entire world. “That’s the best birthday gift anyone could have!”

“The best birthday gift would’ve been going on a date with a handsome Englishman who shared the same love for art but was interested, instead, in his best friend.”

Eric paused, lowering his champagne glass. He swallowed and looked away, unable to look at Alexandra. He looked to Madame Ginoux, hoping she would provide answers or a way to confront this growing fondness and feelings for his best friend, for his Dele. “Is it obvious?”

“Puzzle me this: you had me, someone who understood Van Gogh inside and out, who could discuss his works passionately but instead you’d rather have another who barely understands the concept of post-impressionism. Someone who, if he had received the gift of Starry Night, might think it’s a third grader who drew it in Art class. Why?”

Eric chuckled under his breath. This was Dele in a nutshell. Hell, he could swear on his grandmother’s grave that about half of the paintings they both had gone to see in art shows and galleries Dele swore _that third graders paint better than this old geezer!_ and being bold enough to declare _I bet you, right now, I can paint better than this Monet lad. The moment we go home, I’m going to paint a replica and I’ll be in art galleries, too_.

“I’ll admit he isn’t the best choice to take to art galleries but it has become one of our best past times we both have come to enjoy. It’s less about having something in common but being able to share something you’re passionate about with someone else.” He briefly looked to his left at the sold painting that was a birthday gift to the Greek lady beside him. “He could take me to a Post Malone concert and I would’ve had as much fun as he does when we go to art galleries –  and I did.” He turned to look at her. “We are very different, that’s true, all our friends think so and usually wonder what we talk about half the time.” He chuckled to himself, as if in on an inside joke. “I sometimes, also, wonder because we do talk a lot of shite but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“He’s your yellow paint,” she said, the realization striking her but moreso for Eric.

His eyes grew as wide as saucers, his eyes looking away from Alexandra and staring sightlessly before him. Was it true? Was Dele his yellow paint like it was for Van Gogh? He supposed in a way Dele was because Dele was his form of happiness, just like Van Gogh’s drinking yellow paint was his way of finding happiness. He found him, as cliché as it sounded, and it was with a man who did not care that his eyes were blue or green, who enjoyed art as much as he did and knowing this, it was enough for him.

“I… I think he is.”

“You would rather he was here,” she said more than she asked. She was confirming it, really and Eric nodded, still in awe.

“Art is not his thing, will never be, but business, clothing brands are. He knows the ins and outs of the business world when I can barely crunch the numbers.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” she said. She jutted out her chin and squared her shoulders. “I’ve already called my father who has agreed to meet with Dele to discuss Leo Fortis.”

“What?” Eric nearly let his flute fall to the floor. “Wha—what—Ho-How do you know the name of his company?”

“I searched up his business. It is doing alright but it can do better and my father will help Dele reach international success.”

“No,” said Eric in shock that this was even happening. “I—I can’t let you do this. You’ve been nothing but nice and you’re doing something extraordinary for—”

“Don’t you care for Dele?”

“I do but not—not this way. There are other ways and this can’t be one of them.”

“Why not?”

“I did not come on this date with you just because it would get Del a chance with your father. I wanted to go on this date with you for you because you knew Van Gogh and while I do feel bad for not taking Dele, I chose you. And don’t get me wrong, you’ve been more than wonderful. In fact, if it hadn’t been Dele you’d have been perfect.”

She smiled politely. “Helping my date find out he is in love with his best friend is not exactly a successful date.”

Eric joined her in laughing. He scratched the back of his neck lamely, feeling a new wave of embarrassment. “Sorry about that, I really am. But I mean it, don’t call your father just because I came on a date with you, alright? I wanted to.”

Alexandra’s eyes twinkled cheekily. “As you like, Eric.”

 

⚽ † ⚽

 

“… to apologize.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Accept it as my apology.”

“Diet!”

“Dele.”

“I can’t accept this,” Dele squealed.

He was staring face to face with the original work of the great Vincent Van Gogh’s painting of the Starry Night _in his kitchen_.

When Eric had called him earlier it was to confirm that he would be stopping by later in the evening to which he agreed, and also, he was hosting dinner for his family at 8 o’clock. That was enough time for Eric. Eric came over, carrying a large item in his right hand and handed it to Dele once they were in his kitchen.

Sure, Dele did not know much about art but he was not an idiot to know that owning art was a rich activity in itself. It was like having custom-made Bugatti or custom-made suit by Tom Ford or even owning several exotic animals like giraffes and cheetahs as pets. It was basically having Arab money.

Dele was not Arab, nor did he own a custom-made Bugatti yet he owned one of the most valuable paintings in the entire world and it was his to keep. _In his bloody kitchen_ like it was part of the room like the microwave or a spoon.

“Please accept it.”

“I would’ve been happy with not fucking Van Gogh in my house!” He turned to Eric. “I—I can’t—”

“Before you say anything, can I explain?”

Dele nodded wordlessly.

He narrated his date to the art gallery, revealing that his date was not in fact with Ming but with Alex (“Who?” Dele questioned) who happened to be the Alex Santorini (“The one from the pub?!” Dele gasped). Yes, Alex was a she. Her full name was Alexandra hence the difficulty in knowing who exactly she was. Yes, he went on a date with the daughter of the man who owned several islands (“What the actual –  and I cannot stress this enough – _fuck_?”).

No, he was not going to see her again.

No, he was not on crack, thank you very much.

“Diet, this was, like, your one chance in life not to screw shit up and you did. She is hot, she is wealthy, her father basically owns the business world and can buy whatever number of paintings he likes and you decide, nope, I’m good, peace?!”

“It wasn’t fair on her. She said most people get to her father through her and they barely acknowledge her as a person. I couldn’t do the same thing.” Eric held Dele’s eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Eric bit his bottom lip for a moment or two. “She had called her father who agreed to meet with you to expand Leo.”

Dele’s threw his hands in the air. “No! No fucking way. You’re _joking_!” He paused, his jaw dropped to the floor. “ _My_ Leo Fortis?” He jumped a couple of times around the kitchen, half-squealing in joy at the mere thought of the great Santorini knowing he existed. “My company is known by Mr. Santorini’s daughter? My company?”

“I declined,” he said, breaking the news and it tugged at his heart how fast Dele’s joy vanished from his face and now he was looking at him helplessly. “I couldn’t use her that way.”

“I understand,” Dele said, his hand reaching out to tickle the back of his neck. “You did this for me and I’m, like, a million times grateful.”

Eric raised his glance to Dele and frowned. “But I didn’t help you. It’s everything you’ve wanted.”

Dele gave him a lopsided smile. “You think that’s what I want, Diet?”

Eric said nothing, nodding silently at him. Dele shook his head in disbelief and cupped the back of Eric’s cheeks with both his hands. He licked his lips, Eric’s eyes flicking down to watch the movement and slowly raised his eyes back to Dele’s eyes, the brown in them gazing at him sweetly.

“Leo will go wherever it goes. Maybe it wasn’t, like, meant to go into the hands of Mr. Santorini right now – or ever – and that’s okay. It’ll get to where it needs to. What I care about is you. You gave me this incredible gift that, like, instead of you keeping it like Alexandra instructed you to, you have it go the one person in this whole Earth who doesn’t comprehend what it means to have it. And do you know what else?” 

Eric shook his head wordlessly. He could hear the blood rushing to his ears, swearing Dele could hear the rattling sounds of his heart against his ribcage.

“When you left on your date yesterday, I was alone and—like, mad at you. It was peak of you to go with someone you’ve barely met at something you and I share so, so much. I thought it was just between the two of us and thought you felt the same way but, apparently, it wasn’t. After sulking for a while, I Googled Van Gogh, like properly. Like his history, his works, his everything.  And—and Diet, you’re my yellow paint.”

“What?” Eric breathed in surprise as his arms circled around Dele’s hips.

“I—I didn’t know but it made sense to me. You make me happy, like, you’re my _yellow_ in this little world of mine. From day one at Spurs, we’ve been attached at the hip. There is no Dele without Dier, no Dier without Dele, it’s always _DeleDier_.” Dele paused, hung his head to let out a peal of breathy laughter. He gazed up to find Eric softly smiling back at him, a light dust of pink coloring his cheeks. “We prank together, train together, win together, lose together. We go for art shows and galleries, we watch those old movies with subtitles and we go to Post Malone concerts.  

“You wear baggy clothes from who knows where and I wear Valentino, Balenciaga, and Gucci all in one go,” Dele laughed, Eric smiling yet shaking his head. “You know who Monet and Picasso are, know the difference between Shakespeare and Matisse and yet you never make fun of me for not knowing. You’re always ready to explain to me who these people are, like, without a fault, so when you took another person I felt inadequate. Like, I was a dumb sack of potatoes who only cared about buying the next TAG Heuer watch or a new Rolls Royce so I could flex harder than everybody else. I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

“How could you think that?” Eric pulled him closer with the pull of his arms on Dele’s hips. The other boy effortlessly bumped their chests together. “I don’t care that you don’t know Shakespeare or Monet or the rest. I don’t care that you want the latest gadgets and clothing items, I really don’t, Del. Plus, it’s kind of adorable that you Googled Van Gogh.”

“I prefer research,” Dele said, laughing. “I did a lot more than, like, _type_ on Google.”

Eric fondly rolled his eyes. “Researched. I like the way we are, our differences make us work and we help each other in that way. I love that we are different, that I know close to nothing about Post Malone nor running a clothing business yet you do and you do it wonderfully. I admire that about you, Del. And that’s why I gifted you this painting.”

“I thought it’s 'cause you’re sorry for yesterday?” Dele teased, his eyes briefly looking to the one of a kind painting laid on the kitchen island.

“Remember the first time we saw this painting?”

Dele smiled widely. “I said I’d, like, get it for you because you loved the painting so much—which was before I realized you can’t just, like, _buy_ a painting. They’re so bloody expensive.”

“Instead you got me a custom-made shirt of the painting and that was the best birthday gift ever,” Eric said, matching his smile with his own. “I know how much you wanted to give it to me but couldn’t. Just like you always miss the point of the paintings, I will do the same this one time. The painting was Van Gogh’s yellow paint and you’re my yellow paint, therefore, I want you to have it. Also, if we fall out you’d sell it and finally buy your custom-made Bugatti – with change left over.

(He did not mention that in accompanying Eric to art shows, galleries and museums not just in England but across the world, such as on pre-season tours in America, they would go together to admire art. They could very well have gone to theme parks, joined the team members in clubbing all night long till early morning, but Dele would walk, no matter what it took, for his Dier to see as much art as possible and in doing so, they became each other’s yellow paint. Dele pretty much understood that.)

“I’d never sell it, Diet. Not for a Bugatti, not for anything.”

Eric swallowed. Dele drew him towards him with his eyes, the tips of his fingers raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Eric’s heart beat faster and faster as Dele’s brown face come up to his own – and he did not care that his eyes were brown, nor that they had golden specks in them 0 because it did not matter. They could have been yellow and blue for all he cared.

He turned his head the other way and lay his mouth on his mouth. He hated the feeling that his heart stopped beating and he could see Van Gogh’s stars behind his eyes but that was how he felt when kissing Dele. He kissed him softly, their lips sliding smoothly, tasting Dele on his lips, on his tongue was something he was being lured into further and further into Dele.

He opened Dele’s mouth with his lips, Dele’s hot breath on his wet tongue before he kissed him back fiercely. He turned them around on the spot, pinning Dele’s back to the kitchen counter. He ran his hands across Dele’s back as he kissed past the seam of his lips, tasting him on his tongue, on his breath. He tasted of the blues, of the yellows, of the reds and the oranges and the greens. Dele tasted like all the colors, not just one color.

Maria had gotten him wrong. He was much more than just blue eyes, more than Jonathan’s blue eyes and when she had said why it mattered that he said he had the bluest eyes, it should not have. Dele said he had the prettiest eyes after all, regardless of their color.

“Stay for dinner,” Dele breathed to the air between their lips.

“I—uh—your parents are coming.”

“I already told them you’d be joining.”

Eric raised an eyebrow questioningly. Dele shrugged one shoulder in response.

“I’d love to stay for dinner.”

Dele smiled, slowly at first, then widely and Eric kissed the smile on his soft lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that was... that. it was interesting learning about van gogh's concept of yellow paint -- it's not really a concept concept but what he thought of yellow pain and i wanted this fanfic to be about colors, too... 
> 
> i love reading your feedback: the good, the bad and the ugly, i really don't mind. or if you just wanna say hey. thanks so much for reading this far
> 
> tchao x


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